My Father, Jack
by Pupskt
Summary: Shannon Dawson only knows a little about her father, who is dead. Having lived with her mother all her life, she only knows the little amount of information Rose told her. But what happens when she finds a beautiful drawing, labled JD? COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

Prologue

This is my first fanfic ever! Review please :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, except for Shannon. The rest belong to history or James Cameron.

"Your father had blonde hair, blue eyes, and was twenty years old when he died for me."

That is the only thing my mother really tells me about my father these days. The same thing every time I ask. It is so hard to not know who your father is, what he really looked like, (except knowing that he had blonde hair and blue eyes). Everything else a thirteen year old girl should know about her father I don't know about mine. My mother has only told me this much:

His name was Jack Dawson.

He was an artist.

She met him on the ship, Titanic, thirteen years ago, when she was twenty.

I was created on that ship.

The ship sunk, and my father died on it.

She told me the whole story of everything that had happened on that ship, how she had been engaged to Cal Hockley, and how she had an affair and fell in love with my father. I knew he had let her survive, after the ship sunk, all the while knowing he was going to die. I could never bring myself to imagine how nice and loving he must have been towards my mother, risking his life for her. My mother's name is Rose, she has beautiful, long curly hair and emerald green eyes, and her last name used to be DeWitt Bukater. My mother is simply the most wonderful person in the world, next to my father, of course. She told me I look like both him and her; I have curly red hair like my mother, and ocean blue eyes like my father.

There's not a day that goes by when I wish I could have met my father, or at least, I had a photograph of him, something. Anything. But I don't. I will go on with the rest of my life knowing nothing of my father, except what my mother has told me.

It's early June, 1925, and my name is Shannon Dawson.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Chapter One

"Shannon? Would you please come in here and set the table?" called my mother, who was in the kitchen.

I put my drawing down on the bed. It was supposed to be of New York City, the view from right out the bedroom window. Although, I was only halfway done. I walked out of the bedroom my mother and I share, and into the kitchen. I took two plates out of the wooden cabinet and set the table. When we sat down to eat, I noticed my mother was quietly playing with her food, daydreaming.

"Mother, is something the matter?" I asked her.

She looked up from her food. "What? No…I just….uh…" She seemed to not want to tell me something.

"Mother, what is it? Tell me."

After a long pause, she looked at me. "I lost my job today." She fixed her eyes back to her food.

Now I understood why she had been so quiet. Her job was the only thing that allowed us to have a little apartment over a shoe store. The only thing that allowed me to go to school during the school year. The only thing that had set food on the table. I had once asked her if I could get a job, but she simply said, "No, dear. Your father wouldn't like that." As if she would know! She only knew him for three days, and sometimes she talks about him like he's still alive, saying things like, "Shannon, do you really think your father would allow that?" I think she just says that because she doesn't want to forget him, and I understand that. But when she says things like, "Oh Shannon, your father would be so proud of you." That's where I draw the line. Since I never knew my father, I never know if what I'm doing is pleasing him. I wish I had gotten to know him before he died, so I could promise to do something important for him, just like my mother. He made her promise to make every day count. If only he had made me promise something! At least then I would be sure that he would be proud of me. I know it sounds strange, but I think I wish that more than anything. Wait, no. I wish my father was alive, more than anything. Then, my mother wouldn't have to worry about a job so much. But she had to, and she had just lost it.

"Oh I'm so sorry, mom. Why? I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong." I said, reassuringly.

Mother shook her head. "I didn't do anything wrong. But my boss let me go because he said there were more than enough waitresses and he didn't need me to work for him anymore."

That's when I got angry. "But why _you_? Why did he only pick you?" I said, standing up.

"Whoa there, Shannon, take it easy. It wasn't only me, there were others. So many people are out looking for jobs these days, and there just aren't enough places to work."

I sighed. No matter what, the world would always be unfair.

My mother and I finished our dinner in silence, neither one of us speaking. My mother looked deep in thought throughout her meal, while I thought about the future. Would she find a job? What would happen to us? Those questions wouldn't be answered, at least not anytime soon. After dinner I went back into the bedroom and finished my drawing. Honestly, it hadn't turned out the way I had wanted it to, but I was too tired to start a new one. I decided to get ready for bed, and I put on my nightgown. A few moments after I crawled under the covers, my mother walked in, no longer looking depressed about losing her job. She crawled under the covers with me, and wrapped her arms around me. She could tell I was worried.

"Things will get better Shanny. I know they will." She said, stroking my hair.

"No they won't. Things never get better. They're always the same." I said.

"You know Shannon, your father was always so optimistic. About everything. About life, about people, even Cal! If he were here right now, he would say the opposite of what you just said." She said, lovingly. But that just made me angrier.

"Well he's_ not _here, mom, he's dead! He died thirteen years ago! You only knew him for three days and he didn't even say he loved you! Not once mom..." I said, turning away from her.

Usually when I have outbursts about my father, my mother remains calm and tells me he loves me, and he doesn't want to see me like this. That's what she would do right now, or so I thought.

"Shannon, I know. I know, and I wish everyday he would of told me he loved me. I wish everyday I knew him longer than three days. I wish everyday that he wasn't dead, Shannon! Do you think I just like talking about him to teach you a lesson? Well I'm not! I'm sharing with you the lessons he taught me those three days! And you know what, those lessons are more important than anything I could ever teach you! Your father was the most remarkable person I have ever met and I know he loves me. He never said it but I know he does." At this point, tears were running down mom's face. But I wasn't done yet.

"But how do you know that he loves_ me_? He didn't know you would become pregnant!" I said.

"Shannon, what you don't understand is that dead or alive, you're Jack Dawson's daughter and always will be. There's no way you can change that. And I know Jack loved me. And he loves you too, because if he didn't, than the time in the car would never have happened!" She said.

Now it made sense to me. Jack knew that it was possible for my mother to get pregnant, and he took that risk. And if he was alive when she had me, he would of loved me, just like any father loves his children.

I calmed down, and wrapped my arms around my mom. We both cried a little bit, just like we did every so often when we had these conversations about my father. After a little while, my mom wiped the tears from my face and smiled.

"Why don't we get some sleep? I think we're both tired." She said, yawning.

"Okay. Good night, mom." I said, lying back down on my pillow.

She got out of bed and flicked off the light switch, then got back into bed. As I started to fall asleep, I came to a conclusion. No matter how bad things got, and no matter what happened, my father would always be looking down on me and my mother.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The next day, while my mom was out looking for a job, I decided to go to the art gallery down the street, because I needed some more paper. I go there every once in a while to re-stock on art supplies, and I became very good friends with the owner, Mr. Tomkins, who enjoys showing me the new paintings he has hung in his gallery whenever I come. I grabbed the dollar off my dresser, the money my mother left me if there was anything I needed.

When I walked into the gallery, it was surprisingly empty. But there was Mr. Tomkins, at his desk, going over some paper work.

"Hello, Mr. Tomkins!" I said as I entered the store.

He looked up from his desk. "Why hello, Shannon. Good to see you!" He said, getting up and walking over to me. "What can I do for you today?"

"I just need some paper." I said.

"Ah…yes…of course." Said Mr. Tomkins as he handed me a book of paper from the shelf behind his desk. "Will this be all?"

"Yes, for now, anyway." I said.

"Alright, that will be twenty five cents."

I handed him my dollar and he gave me back the change.

"Do you have any new paintings this week?" I asked, not wanting to leave right away.

"Oh how could of I forgotten? Of course I do. Do you want to see them?" He asked.

"I'd love to."

He led me back into the gallery, where some of Mr. Tomkins favorite paintings and drawings hung on the walls. Most of the artists I had never before heard of. Some were better than others. But there was one drawing that caught my attention. It was a black and white sketch of a house, kind of like a log cabin, in the middle of a field, with a lake in the background. It was really good, but that's not what interested me as much. The artist's initials on the bottom right hand corner of the paper, JD.

Without thinking, I asked Mr. Tomkins, "Um…what's the artist's name?" As I pointed to the drawing.

Mr. Tomkins scratched his head. "Uh…..let's see…..I think his name was…..uh…..oh……his name was Dawson…..ha isn't that funny….is he a distant relative of your mother's or something?" He sarcastically asked, chuckling. But I was in no laughing mood.

"What was his first name? Do you know?" I asked hesitantly. I knew it was too good to be true. It was just a coincidence, and I was getting my hopes up for nothing.

Mr. Tomkins continued scratching his head. "Oh, well, uh….I don't really remember, uh….John……Jack…..Jacob…or something like that."

Even though I had no way to tell, I'm pretty sure my face was as white as a sheet. The name, Jack. Jack Dawson. The artist. No, it couldn't be! He died! My mother saw him die! He froze in the Atlantic Ocean! There was no way…..was there?

"Uh….Shannon? Are you okay? You look a little pale." Mr. Tomkins noticed.

"Um….no….no…… everything's fine. Excuse me I have to go." I said, and bolted out of the store.

"Wait, Shannon!" I heard Mr. Tomkins call for me, but I didn't turn back. I ran all the way back to the apartment, and flopped down on the bed once I was in.

There was _no way _the artist who drew that picture could have been my father. Although I didn't know anyone else with the last name Dawson, well, there could be others….just someone else with the possible same name as my father who is also an artist, just like my father was. There was no possible way he could be alive, he died. My mother was there to see him die. And people just don't come back to life. And besides, even if he was alive, he would have been with my mother by now, years ago even.

"Okay." I thought. "I just have to get this stupid thought out of my mind. My father is _dead._ There's no way that can be him"

I took out a new sheet of paper and started to draw the view from my window again, because I didn't like how the other one turned out. But it seemed that no matter what, I couldn't stop my mind from thinking about the drawing in the gallery. I kept telling myself it was impossible. My head told me one thing, the one that made the most since. That whoever drew that picture just has the same initials as my father did and is also an artist. But my heart, told me that my father maybe, just maybe, wasn't really dead.

When my mom walked through the door, she announced that she hadn't found a job. But she wasn't about to give up, she was going to continue her search tomorrow.

I decided not to tell mom about what happened, because she'd probably just think I was seeing things after what happened last night. I knew it was crazy to think that my father was alive, but I wasn't seeing things. So that night, when I crawled into bed with mother, I kept my mouth shut. She was asleep long before I was. Once I was sure she was asleep, I crept out of bed and walked into the other part of the apartment, where we have the small kitchen and the tiny sitting area. I sat on the sofa, and stared out the window. I knew I should probably talk to my dad, which I didn't do often. Only when I had something big on my mind. And this was definitely one of those times.

"Dad?" I whispered. "It's me, Shannon. I know I haven't spoken to you in a while, and I know I probably should of…..well, anyway….uh….I'm not sure if you know what happened to me earlier today. I went to Mr. Tomkins art gallery and….well…I saw a drawing there….the initials are JD, just like yours. When I asked him what the artist's name was, he said it was Dawson, and he wasn't really sure what the first name was, but he did mention the name Jack. I know it's crazy……I guess somebody out there just has the same last name as you and….I guess he's also an artist. Well….that lead me to think….well….I have a thought flickering on and off in my mind that maybe…..you aren't really dead. Well, I know that's not true, but Dad, even though you've never met me and I've never met you….I wish you were still alive, more than anything. I know my mother, Rose, does too. Well….what I guess I'm trying to ask you is….please….please help me to accept the fact that you're dead. Help me accept the fact that the drawing that I saw in the store earlier wasn't yours. Dad, please….I need you to help me. I know I probably should tell Mother, but….I think she'd think I was desperate to prove to her you're alive or something. Well, I know you're dead. So please just help me accept it, Dad." I was about to stop my prayer there, but I realized I had forgotten one thing.

"Oh and Dad? I have to tell you…..I love you….I don't think I've ever told you that….even thought I've never met you….I love you…..now more than ever…..and I know you love me too…..and I'll…..I'll never stop loving you….no matter what. I promise."

And with that, I tip-toed back into the bedroom, and crawled beneath the sheets next to mom. Luckily, she didn't even stir. I had a dream that night, about my father. The three of us, my mother, me, and my father, were all together, all happy. The only thing was, I couldn't see my father's face. It's as if my mind wouldn't let me, no matter how much I wanted to.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The next day when I woke up, my mother wasn't there. She had left a note on the bed explaining that she had gone job searching again. I looked at the clock on the wall, and couldn't believe my eyes when I read that it was already ten o'clock. My mind automatically thought about what had happened yesterday, and I silently scolded myself for letting my mind wander again. I vowed not to think about it for the rest of the day, and got out of bed to change into some clothes. After I changed, I heated up some bread for toast, and ate that, and before I could stop myself, I was thinking about the drawing again. After I ate, I knew I had to do something to get my mind off of it. I picked up one of my mother's books and started to read it. After about five minutes, I slammed the book back onto the table after realizing I hadn't even finished the first page. I paced around the room for a while, and then went into the bedroom to work on my drawing of the view from my window. But it seemed that with every stroke I took, my mind kept wandering to yesterday, and I couldn't contain myself any longer.

"Sorry Dad," I said out loud. "But something's telling me I have to do this."

I hurriedly put my shoes on, and left the apartment.

I ran as fast as I could all the way to Mr. Tomkins's gallery, bursting through the store entrance, seeing that once again, it was empty, typical for a weekday morning.

"Mr. Tomkins!" I said, perhaps a bit too loud.

"Oh my, Shannon, dear. What is going on?" he asked, walking over to me.

"Look, I need to get all the information I can about the artist from yesterday, remember,_ JD_?" I asked, out of breath.

"Why?" he asked.

I instantly reminded myself that if I told Mr. Tomkins my suspicions, he might tell my mother.

"It doesn't matter why, but please…._anything_ I can get on him….you would be helping me so, so much, more than you would ever know. Please Mr. Tomkins." I begged.

Mr. Tomkins scratched his head. "Well, if it really means that much to you…whenever I ask an artist if I can display their creations here, if they accept, I always ask them to fill out a sort of…resume. If I can find one on this _JD _fellow…well... it's not much but that's all the information I have on him."

I nodded. "That will do."

Mr. Tomkins walked over to a file cabinet, and started to dig through the billions of files he had stored in there.

"Um…what did you say was the name of this man?" He asked, still digging through the files.

"Dawson." I responded.

"Ah…yes…the one with the same last name as you. Small world, isn't it?" He chuckled. I didn't say anything.

After what seemed like hours, he finally pulled out a file. This was it. The moment of truth. He handed me the file. I quickly walked over to his desk, and sat down, not caring that my manner weren't at their best at the moment. I opened the file. I gasped when I read the name at the top.

**Jack A. Dawson**

Education:

Graduated from Chippewa School in 1897

Chippewa Falls, WI

Experience:

Sold paintings in USA, Europe

Flee Markets

Thrift shops

Street corners **Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries **

**2120 Auburn Street**

Current Occupation: **Santa Monica, California 90401**

Assistant Manager of _Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries_

As I read the words on the page, I started to feel faint. _Chippewa Falls. Europe. Santa Monica._

"I must be dreaming" I said out loud. I started to breathe heavily.

"No! No!" I thought. "Dad, please! Let me wake up from this dream! Please!"

"Shannon? Are you alright? What's going on?" Asked Mr. Tomkins, seeing the state I was in.

"Oh my God, no…" I said, getting up, clutching the piece of paper in my hand.

"Shannon what's going on?" Asked Mr. Tomkins, walking up to me with a confused look on his face. But I was oblivious to everything happening.

"No there's no way….Oh my God….." I babbled, and I noticed it was getting harder and harder to breathe. The room started spinning, and the walls were caving in on me. My breathing got worse.

"_Oh my God! I can't breathe!" _I screamed, and felt Mr. Tomkins' arms go around me. I suddenly had no control over my body. I felt myself collapse in Mr. Tomkins' arms. The next thing I saw was black.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

When I opened my eyes I found that I was in the bed at the apartment. My mother was there, hovering over me, a worried expression on her face.

"Oh thank goodness." She said, stroking my hair.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"You fainted. About an hour ago. How do you feel?" She asked.

Although I did feel a bit weak, I felt alright.

"I'm fine." I replied.

"Shannon," Mom started quietly. "Mr. Tomkins told me this was in your hand when you fainted." She said, holding up a sheet of paper.

Then I remembered. My father was alive. Just the thought of it made hot tears start to fall from my cheeks.

"Mom, did you read it?" My voice cracked as I said it. But for some reason, Mom didn't seem to have any expression on her face, knowing that her long lost love was alive.

"Yes, I did." Mom sighed. "Shanny, I know that it feels good to pretend that our loved ones aren't dead, but dear…I'm afraid….this is just too much." She said, stroking my hair.

What was she saying? I didn't get any of it. Why wasn't she happy? Crying tears of joy?

"Mother, what are you talking about?"

"Shanny, why would you do such a thing? Typing up some…..resume? Your father?"

She thought I was lying? About something like this?

"Mom, alright…yesterday…..when I went to go buy some more paper from the gallery, I asked Mr. Tomkins if I could see some of the new drawings that came in. When were in the gallery, I saw a beautiful drawing of a log cabin in a field, and the initials in the corner were 'JD'. I didn't believe it could be true at first, but today, I went back there to see if Mr. Tomkins had any information on the artist and he gave me the resume, and….then I fainted."

Mom's face grew pale.

"Shannon….your father is dead. I saw him die. I…let him go…..in the ocean….he sunk. He's gone, Shannon."

"Than explain the drawing! Explain the resume! What happened once the stewards pulled you into that lifeboat anyway?" I asked, out of anger, frustration, and happiness all at the same time.

"I…I uh…I became unconscious. I didn't wake up until we were about to board the Carpathia." She said quietly.

"Well how do you know Dad was just unconscious too? I mean, if you became unconscious right away, you don't know for sure what happened. He could have swum up, you know."

My mother stood up, her face pale. "Shannon, answer this question. Do you really think he's alive?"

I thought for a moment. I really didn't know.

"I don't know. But if we find out he's really dead, for sure, then…I mean….we're no worse and no better, right?"

My mom looked at me for a second. "Shannon, you are not only my child, but you are Jack's daughter. You remind him of me in so many ways. And I think, if he was in your place, he would go after what he was looking for, even if it wasn't really there. And Shannon, as much as it would pain me to find he was really dead, it would make me the happiest woman on earth to find out he was…..alive….after all of these years…and…I think…I think you should go out there and find your father." She said, very slowly, her voice cracking.

"What? What are you saying?" I asked, confused, and crying.

"I'm saying that…well…I got a job…and I can't just take off for a few weeks right away as much as I want to, but it would be impossible. I want you, Shannon….to see if your father is really dead. We've got nothing to lose, right?" She asks, smiling, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Mom, do you really mean it? You're going to let…me go find him? I mean…to see if he's….oh my…..oh mom…thank you!" I said, getting out of bed and hugged her.

We hugged and cried for a few minutes, than my mother lead me into the other part of the apartment. We both took a seat on the couch.

"Shannon, now, we've got to think about this. Now even if you find out he's not alive, you're still going to need some place to stay when you're in….Santa Monica." My mother smiled as she spoke the words, and I could tell she wished she could be with me on my journey more than anything.

"I'm going to send you with some money, enough to get you a motel room for a few nights, and you'll write to me as soon as you settle in a place, and then I can send you more money when needed."

"But mom, all this money, I mean, how can we do it?" I asked, still in disbelief in everything that was happening.

"Well I'm working as a secretary in the post office, so the pay will be a bit better than my old job."

"Oh…mom…" I said, hugging her.

"Shannon, also, please, don't get your hopes up about all of this. I know…I really should take my own advice, but please, because no matter what, your father will always be in both of our hearts."

"I know mom, he's always been in mine, even if I didn't realize it." I said.

"There's just one more thing." My mom pointed out. "When do you want to leave?"

I chuckled. "Tomorrow too soon?" I asked.

Mom laughed. "Bright and early."

That night, my mother and I lied in bed, talking over tomorrow's plans. My suitcase was already packed, and I was to leave on the seven o'clock train ride, and would take at least three days to get to Santa Monica. I would then go straight to Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries, and then play the rest depending on what happened. I was so excited, yet so nervous, and scared. My hopes were high, almost too high. I could tell Mother's were too. I finally fell asleep that night, amongst all the excitement. My life was certainly about to change.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

_Three days later_

I couldn't believe my ears when I heard the conductor announce we would be arriving at Santa Monica train station in about five minutes. My heart was in my throat with all the mixed up emotions. My face must have been pale, because the woman sitting across from me asked if I was alright. I simply laughed and said I was fine, just excited to get off the train.

Five minutes later, the train pulled in front of The Santa Monica Train Station. I almost couldn't believe it. I felt like crying, but I swallowed back the tears for later. I stepped off the train, and smiled. Santa Monica was beautiful! Everything was so green and fresh, unlike New York City.

"Alright," I thought. "First things first."

I went out towards the side walk and found a taxi sitting at the curb. I knocked on the window, and the driver rolled it down.

"Can I help, ya, miss?" The elderly man asked me.

"Uh…yes….I was wondering if you know of a place called Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries." I asked, excited, yet calm.

"Course. You need a ride?"

I nodded, and climbed inside the taxi.

After what seemed like hours, the taxi stopped in front of a building. The sign read "_Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries." _This was it. I handed the driver the amount of money it cost for the ride, and got out of the taxi, clutching my small suitcase.

"Oh God, please!" I silently prayed. I opened the door to the shop and walked in. There was a man sitting at the front desk.

"Hello!" He said, walking over to me. "Welcome to Scott Jory's. How may I help you?" He asked in a happy tone of voice.

I swallowed hard. The moment of truth. "Um….I was wondering….does a man named….J…Jack Dawson work here?" I asked, and then suddenly looked down, afraid of the answer. But to my surprise...

"Oh yeah, he's actually just about to leave…let me see if I can catch him." He said, walking down a hallway, leaving me alone.

"Oh my Goodness." I thought. "My father…." I really wanted to cry now, but I didn't let myself.

All of a sudden, I heard noises in the background. I couldn't hear most of it, but I did hear something that sounded like, "Scott, I gotta get home! Can't you just show 'er around?" The voice sounded kind of angry.

Then, a man with blonde hair, and blue eyes walked in the room.

"So I hear I have a fan." Said the man, in a snotty tone.

My heart pounded violently. My father, Jack Dawson, was here. Standing right in front of me, talking to me. Although, it wasn't really what I had expected.

"Um…Mr. Dawson….I ah…." I wasn't really sure what to say, but I had to talk to keep myself from bursting into tears of joy.

After a pause, my father's expression changed. "Look kid, what do you want, a donation for your church or somethin'? 'Cause we don't do that here!" He said rather loudly.

I was a bit taken back by his outburst.

"No….no…I came here to tell you….um….Mr. Dawson, my name is Shannon, and I…" I didn't know how to tell him. I suddenly wished Mom was with me right now so he'd recognize her.

"Look, you're wasting my time. Tell me what you want to tell me." He snapped.

This was my father? So far, he didn't sound like anything my mother had ever told me about him. Sure he fit her description on the outside, but on the inside…..something big was missing. I decided to wait to tell him I was his daughter.

"Um…..I just…I saw one of your drawings in a gallery in New York City….and um…I was wondering if you could show me some of your other ones…If you don't mind."

He sighed. "Of course I don't" He said sarcastically. "This way." And he started walking down the hallway, and I followed him into the gallery section of the store.

He pointed to one side of the room. "Those are all mine over there."

I looked where he was pointing. Most of the drawings were of landscapes, but there were a few of people. An elderly man with his wife sitting on a bench, a little girl with her dad holding hands, and there was another one that grabbed my attention. A woman's face, it looked a lot like my mother's. I knew I had found my father now.

"Um…Mr. Dawson? May I ask….who is that woman?" I asked.

"No one." He said quickly. But I wasn't about to give up. I would get this out of him even if I had to do it impolitely.

"No one? Really….She looks a lot like someone I know….Do you know what her name is?" I asked innocently.

My father sighed. "Look, kid, why do you even care? Don't you have better things to do? Like…maybe…bothering someone else?"

I decided to ignore that comment.

"Are you sure that this woman is 'no one'? Because I think she is someone. I think you just don't want to tell me. Is she your wife?"

His face turned red. "Look, if you really desire to know, that woman is someone who I used to know, but she either died or left me thirteen years ago. Happy now?" He spat.

But I wasn't ready to give up. Maybe a change of subject would help.

"It sounded like she was someone special to you. You know, I lost someone close to me, too. My father. My mother says I have my father's eyes. And his love for drawing. But I have my mother's hair, she has red hair like mine, but she says I definitely have my father's blue eyes. The sad thing is, my mother and I believed that my father died before I was born, thirteen years ago. He didn't even know she had been pregnant. And I've never met him…..until now."

There. I had said it. I saw my father's face turn from red to white.

"What are you saying?" He said quietly, not as angry as he had seemed before.

This was it. I was about to officially meet my father. I held the tears back.

"Mr. Dawson, I know who the woman in the picture is. Rose DeWitt Bukater. My mother."

To my surprise, my father's face turned red again.

"I knew she would go back to that idiot!" He slammed his fist against the wall.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.

"Well, _Miss. Shannon_, I'm surprised your parents let you out of the house by yourself. Don't you have like…some party to go to?" he snapped.

Now I understood. He thought my mother had gone back to Cal. He thought I was Cal's daughter. Was he in for a big surprise.

"Mr. Dawson….my mother hasn't spoken to Cal Hockley since…April 14, 1912… and he's not my father. You are."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wa…What?"

"Mr. Dawson…I am your daughter. Shannon Christine Dawson. I came here to tell you that…you're a dad. Rose got pregnant, and I'm her daughter. We both believed you were dead my whole life, until only recently I saw one of your drawings in a gallery in New York City, where we live. But…you're not. And….I have found you…finally…"

There was a long moment of silence between me and my father. I honestly expected him to wrap his arms around me and say that I really did have his eyes. Was I wrong…


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The moment of silence between me and my father was agonizing. If he would only say something, anything to break the silence. His whole face was pale, which was understandable. But the moment of silence was just too long.

"Uh….Mr. Dawson?" I asked quietly.

He finally looked me in the eyes. "You can't be my daughter. Rose never got pregnant." He said, as if he knew.

"Yes she did. Look at me. I'm here." I said, pointing to myself.

"No she couldn't have gotten pregnant. It's impossible." He said a matter-of-factly.

"Mr. Dawson," I said, smiling a little, "My mother has told me the whole story about you two on Titanic. I know everything that happened between you two and….I know that you two hadn't exactly…..planned for me….but…..she got pregnant. And she had me."

My father looked down at his feet.

"I don't understand. How did she survive?"

"The lifeboats came back for survivors, and she was still alive when they were there. She had to get off the floating door and use a whistle that had been in a dead officer's mouth to get their attention."

Before I knew it, my father's face became angry again.

"So Rose just let me die, I see. I understand everything now." He spat.

Now I became mad. "_How dare you say such a thing. _My mother wished everyday that you were still alive. I did too."

"Well I would have been with you all the time if she hadn't let me sink in the water now, wouldn't I?"

"She thought you were dead! Your body was practically frozen to hers!"

"Did she ever hear of checking for a pulse?"

I had enough. Hearing this man, my father, talk about my mother this way was breaking my heart. I couldn't believe this was really him. I was raging with anger.

"You know, when I first found out you were alive, I fainted! I was so happy to know you were alive I actually passed out. And my mother was as happy as I've ever seen her too. And you act as if it's our faults that we didn't know you weren't really dead!"

Hi face turned oven more red. "If Rose was so happy to hear I was alive, why didn't she come here herself?" He snapped.

"She just lost her job, and she had to get a new one. She couldn't just take off for a few weeks! She wanted to come! Really badly! She would be here right now if she had the choice! Can't you understand?" I said, rather loudly.

"Oh, I see. Her stupid job means _everything _to her, more than I do, and so she just sends you to go get me. Well tell her that….tell her….tell her I don't care anymore. If it really means that much to her….she should just stay in New York. Tell her that." He yelled.

Tears were threatening to spill out from my eyes. I couldn't believe he was talking this way about _my mother. _All my life….I had been wrong about what I had thought about Jack Dawson. I knew I couldn't be in the same room with him anymore. I had to leave.

"Well it's been very nice meeting you, _Mr. Dawson._" I said, my voice cracking and a tear forming at the corner of my eye. I quickly walked out of the gallery. When I got to the art supply part of the store, I didn't even bother to say good bye to Mr. Jory, who had been kind to me in the first place. I left the store, and wiped away a tear rolling down my cheek. Swallowing hard, I hailed a taxi.

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked.

"Uh…do you know of any hotels around here?" I asked, trying not to cry.

"Yes. The Monica Inn has fair prices but nice rooms. Is that okay?" he asked.

"That's fine."

When he pulled up in front of the hotel, I paid him and walked inside the building. I paid for a single room, and after my key was handed to me I took the lift up to my room. Once in the room, I collapsed onto the bed and sobbed. I was so confused. Why had he been so mean? Shouldn't he be happy to know that my mother was alive, and not with Cal Hockley? Shouldn't he be happy to know that he had a daughter? I didn't understand any of it. I thought about writing to Mother about where I was staying, but then I realized I would have to tell her that Jack Dawson was a stubborn, cold-hearted fool who for some reason, blamed her for thinking he was dead. That would break her heart. I couldn't tell her, not right away. I decided that maybe with a little work, maybe, I could get Jack Dawson to fit the description my mother gave me.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The next morning, I walked into the empty Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries at nine o'clock, right when it opened. Mr. Jory was there to greet me again.

"Why hello….Shannon…is it?" He asked.

"Yes. Hello Mr. Jory." I responded. "Um…is Mr. Dawson in today?"

"Well he usually doesn't come until about nine thirty. But you can stay here and wait for him if you like."

"Yes, I think I will. Thank you."

Mr. Jory came up to me, with a confused look on his face.

"Um…Shannon…may I ask….what happened yesterday, with you and Jack? Do you two know each other or something?"

"Um…Mr. Jory…did Jack ever tell you that he was on Titanic?"

"Well, I knew he was….he never talks about it though."

"Well, please…don't tell him I told you all this."

Mr. Jory nodded understandingly. "I won't. I promise."

"Well, when Jack was on Titanic, he met my mother, Rose. They fell in love, and…well…to make a long story short…I was…conceived on the ship. Then after it sunk, they both ended up in the freezing water. They found a door floating in the water, which could only hold one person. Well, Mr. Dawson made my mother get on, and he stayed in the water. He made her promise to go on…to make everyday count. Then…after about an hour….the lifeboats came back…but by the time they got there….Mr. Dawson was dead. Or at least my mother thought he was. So, she had to let him sink in the ocean. Well, than she lived in New York, and had me, Mr. Dawson's child. She always told me he was the most wonderful man in the world, and when I found out he was alive, my mother sent me here because she had to work. Well, I guess I was expecting to find the Jack Dawson my mother met on Titanic. I….I guess I didn't." I said, my voice cracking a bit.

Mr. Jory shook his head. "Jack's always been like that. Always in a bad mood, he's lived alone for thirteen years, ever since the ship sunk."

"Did he ever tell you about my mother?"

"No. But I can see that it all makes sense now, why he's always so depressed."

I thought for a moment. "Has he really always been like this?"

"No…he used to be really quiet…spent the majority of his time in his office, drawing. I guess being alone after so long made him angry."

Just then, my father walked through the door, and sighed when he saw me.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, angrily.

Before I could say anything, Mr. Jory came to my defense.

"Hold on there, Jack. Let the girl talk for a second."

Jack sighed. Mr. Jory excused himself out of the room to let us be alone.

"Mr. Dawson…" I started, "What you said yesterday hurt me, but I'll be okay. But if my mother heard that, it'd break her heart."

"Well….well…it was her fault anyway."

"Mr. Dawson," I said, starting to get a bit angry again. "You're the one who told her to go on in the first place. When she saw the lifeboats coming, she wanted to keep her promise to you. How do you expect her to do that if she's still holding on to you?"

"She could have checked for a pulse!" he snapped.

"Mr. Dawson, I know I wasn't there or anything, but I know it was freezing, and she probably wouldn't have even felt your pulse!" I said, not planning on giving up anytime soon.

Mr. Dawson remained speechless.

"Do you still love my mother?" I asked quietly.

"Used to." He mumbled, showing no facial expression.

"_Used to?_ So one day you just _stopped _loving her?" I asked, getting really angry now. "How could you say such a thing? Because she still loves you, more than anything. She talks about you all the time, my whole life revolved around you, as if you were there. You know, you're an ignorant, self centered fool! When I first found out that you were alive, I was thrilled. But now, I think you're better off being dead!" I yelled, and stormed out of the building, leaving my father speechless.

_meanwhile at the art store…… _

The second Shannon had left the store, Jack knelt down on his knees, and he couldn't believe what she had just said to him. Ignorant? Self centered? Nobody had ever called him that. She wished he was dead? He hardly even knew this girl and already she was mad at him. He knew why, though. He was ignorant. He was self centered. He was a fool. That was his daughter, and now she was gone. He hadn't even given her a chance.

Mr. Jory came out from the hallway.

"Uh Jack, what just happened here?"

Jack was silent for a moment. "I….I just lost my daughter."

It felt strange to say the words "my daughter", especially about Shannon. But in a way, it all felt so right. But he was afraid, he would never be able to use those words again unless he said, "my daughter hates me," or "my daughter is gone."

Mr. Jory walked up to Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Jack, you've been with me now for almost twelve years. That girl, who claims to be your daughter, did you even know about her?"

"No. Scott, I didn't."

"Was it right to just let her go?" Scott asked, already knowing the answer.

"She's my daughter. And after only meeting her twice, she reminds me so much of Rose….she even looks like her. I don't know how I couldn't see in the first place."

"Jack, you just said you didn't love Rose anymore. Rose is Shannon's_ mother._ And you two are her parents, no matter what. And Jack, you may never see either one of them again. All Shannon wanted was to meet her father, Jack Dawson. The man her mother met on the Titanic. Not a man who _thinks_ he's Jack Dawson. She came by today to give you another chance. And you wasted it."

Jack was silent for a moment, trying to hold back his tears. He had never felt this way before, a mixture of happiness, sorrow, and love. Shannon was after all, his daughter.

"What am I going to do?" He asked, his voice cracking a bit. Scott was his friend; he was always there for him, even when Jack wasn't a good friend back.

"Well…suppose I bring Shannon here tomorrow. You can try to take back some of the things you said."

Jack sighed. "Do you think that would work?"

"I don't know. I think you hurt her pretty badly. But it's worth a try."

"Alright. But how do you know where to find her?"

"Oh, I think I have an idea."

_Back at the hotel…_

I calmly opened the door to her hotel room. I wasn't crying. I really didn't feel any emotion. I got a piece of paper and a pen from my small suitcase and sat at the desk, ready to write the letter.

_Dear Mother,_

That's all I put. I couldn't think of anything else to say.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The next morning was a Saturday. Since I had nothing else better to do, I stayed in bed. I still hadn't written my letter to Mother, because I had no idea what to say. How would I tell her that, yes, I found my father, but he didn't love her anymore. I couldn't tell her that. I didn't know what to do.

Around ten o'clock, I heard a knock on my door. Sighing, I crawled out of bed, fixed my hair, and went to answer it. It was Mr. Jory.

"Mr. Jory, what are you doing here? How did you know I was staying here?" I asked, confused.

"Well, most people who come here stay at the Monica Inn; I kind of guessed you would be here." He explained.

"Oh. Um…do you want to come in?"

"Sure." He came inside the room. "Shannon, I wanted to talk to you, about Jack."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry Mr. Jory, but he's impossible."

"Shannon, he feels really bad about what happened yesterday. He wants to talk to you."

"He wants to talk to me? What, so he can nag about how it's my mother's fault she thought he was dead? Because I've heard it already."

Mr. Jory shook his head. "No Shannon, he wants to apologize. He wants to take back the things he said. He really does."

"But he said he didn't love my mother, and there's no way he can just change his mind."

"Shannon, Jack doesn't want to let you go. You're his daughter." Said Mr. Jory.

"Yes, and he's my father. And since he hasn't been acting _at all_ like one, I don't see why I should act like a daughter to him."

"Shannon, please, just give him another chance." Mr. Jory said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jory. But I already have. I'm going to tell my mother that I did not find my father, because there's no way this can be him. Not Jack Dawson. At least, not _this _Jack Dawson. I'm sorry, Mr. Jory, that you had to waste your time on a Saturday morning." I said.

"Well, Shannon, at least think about what I said. I think Jack really does still love your mother, very much. And….I think he loves you, too. Please, just….just think about it."

I decided to ignore that comment.

"Good day, Mr. Jory," I said, leading him out to the hallway.

"Shannon." He said quietly, nodding his head.

_meanwhile at the art store……_

When Scott entered the art store, Jack was standing at the front desk, excitedly waiting.

"So did you find her? Did you tell her? Is she coming?" Jack asked, awaiting the answer.

After a pause, Mr. Jory shook his head. "I'm sorry Jack. She's made up her mind. She….she doesn't want to see you. I'm sorry."

Jack's eyes showed pain. But he wasn't about to give up. "Well…well…maybe…I could go and talk to her. Maybe she'll change her mind!" He said, starting to walk across the room, towards the door.

"No, Jack!" Mr. Jory said loudly. "No. Don't go. She can make her own decisions. Besides, if you go, it could only make things worse."

Jack sighed. "You're right." He groaned. "I'm such an idiot! Why did I have to be such a jerk yesterday! God….I'm such an idiot!"

Mr. Jory, who was startled at Jack's reaction, tried to calm him down.

"Jack…why don't you take the day off today. Go home and rest for a while." He suggested.

"But what if Shannon comes?" asked Jack?

"She probably won't. But if she does, I'll call you."

"Alright." Jack nodded. He went back to his office to grab his briefcase.

"See you tomorrow, Jack." Said Mr. Jory.

"See you." Jack said in a depressed tone.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

_Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries_

The next day, Scott was sitting at his front desk filing out some paperwork. It was already about two thirty, and Jack wasn't at the store yet. He was starting to get a bit worried. He tried calling Jack's apartment several times, but got no answer. Usually Jack called if he was sick or something, But Scott had a feeling that he might be skipping work for another reason, Shannon. But it was still funny that he hadn't called yet. Since there had been very little customers that day, Scott decided he would close up early and go to Jack's to check on him.

He switched the "open" sign on the door to "closed" and started to walk towards the direction of Jack's apartment building.

When he got there, he knocked on the door several times. No answer. He called Jack's name, and knocked some more, but still got nothing. He turned the handle but the door was locked. He went down to the front desk on the first floor, and asked if they had seen him leave, but they hadn't. Scott went back up to Jack's apartment and knocked some more, this time louder. After a few minutes, Scott heard something crash to the floor. He instantly became worried. What if Jack was so depressed about Shannon he tried to hurt himself? As these thoughts raged through Scott's mind, he knew he should take action, and fast. Without hesitation, he slammed his whole body against the door as hard as he could, and flew open. Once inside, he started calling Jack's name.

"Jack! Jack? Where are you?" He asked, first looking into the kitchen. He got no answer.

"Jack!" He stopped at the bedroom door, to find it closed. He opened it, and there was Jack. He was lying on the floor, obviously from collapsing. He was doused in sweat, and he was obviously sick, not suicidal. He was so pale, and his eyes were closed.

"Dear God! Jack!" He said, lifting up the unconscious young man and putting him into the bed.

"Jack!" He shouted, shaking Jack's shoulder, as if to wake him. Scott put his hand on Jack's forehead. He was burning up.

"Oh my god…." Scott shouted.

He ran into the kitchen towards the phone. He quickly called a doctor, who said he was on his way.

Once the doctor arrived, Scott left to go get Shannon. He knew she would be mad for bringing her to see Jack, but she should be there just because that, no matter what, he was her family. He took a taxi to the Monica Inn and remembering what her room number was, took the elevator lift to her room.

He knocked on the door loudly and quickly, startling Shannon.

_Shannon's point of view_

I jumped when I heard the loud banging on my door. I quickly went to answer it. It was Mr. Jory, with an extremely worried look on his face.

"Mr. Jory?" I asked when I opened the door. "What's wrong?"

"It's Jack. We have to go, _now._" He said, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of my hotel room.

"Wait! Where are you taking me? I don't want to see him!" I said as he pulled me down the hallway. Suddenly, he stopped pulling me and looked me in the eyes.

"Shannon, Jack is really sick. I went to his apartment today and he was unconscious, and he's burning up with fever. Please Shannon; you're the only family right now that he has. Please, come with me."

I surrendered. If my father was sick, I knew I should probably be with him, no matter how much I hated him.

Mr. Jory took me outside, and then hailed a taxi, and we both climbed in. As the taxi started to drive, I decided it's time to get things straight with Mr. Jory about Jack.

"Mr. Jory, before you came in yesterday morning, what did Mr. Dawson tell you?"

"He said that you remind him a lot of your mother, and that he was an idiot for letting you go. He was so sorry yesterday, so upset that he had just let you out of his life. He asked me if I would go to talk to you, and when I came back, he broke down. He really needed you, Shannon. Jack wants another chance. He wants that more than anything."

I remained silent for a while, thinking about what Mr. Jory just told me. I knew he was right. I should give my father another chance. Perhaps he just was so shocked to find out he had a daughter, he didn't know how to handle it. Now, I felt bad. I wish I could have handled the situation in a different way, but it was too late.

"Mr. Jory, do you think…that if I talk to him, like…a _real _conversation with him, that maybe…things might turn out alright?"

Mr. Jory nodded. "I believe they will, Shannon. I believe they will."

We pulled up in front of a fancier building, and Mr. Jory led me inside, and up to my father's apartment.


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

My father's apartment was kind of fancy, but nothing special. It kind of looked like a hotel suite. Mr. Jory led me though the door, where I saw one of the most frightening sights I had ever seen. Jack, my father, was lying in bed, his eyes closed. He was deathly pale, and Mr. Jory was right, he was burning up terribly. If it weren't for his chest moving up and down, I would have thought he was dead. I immediately regretted saying that he'd be better off dead, yesterday, when we had our little outburst in the store. I couldn't believe I had said that! Maybe that's what caused him to be sick. I must of like, set him under a spell by wishing such things. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to him.

"How's he doing, doctor?" Mr. Jory asked.

"Well, this young man's got a bad case of the flu. He's unconscious right now, kind of strange for people who have the flu. I suppose he has a bad, rare case of it. Now he can recover quickly, if you follow my instructions. Make sure someone is with him at all times, or at least in the house. And for when he wakes up, don't let him eat or drink anything, only ice chips if he gets thirsty. And most importantly, make sure he remains under the covers, no matter how warm he gets. I know he's burning up right now, but he must stay under the covers, no matter what. I'll be back tomorrow to check on him. If anything happens, I'm a phone call away." The doctor explained.

"Thank you doctor. We'll take good care of him." Said Mr. Jory, as the doctor closed the door behind him.

Scott could tell I was getting teary-eyed. I couldn't help it. After all, I had done this to him.

"Shannon, he's going to be okay. I promise." Mr. Jory said, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"But I did this to him…" I said, my voice cracking. "This is all my fault."

"No it's not--"

"Yes it is! Yesterday, I told him he would be better off….dead. Now look at him! This is all my fault. He doesn't deserve this, no matter how mean he was! He had a reason to be mad too….I should of just let him get angry and not say anything….I shouldn't of called him a fool….this is all my fault!" I said, now crying.

"Shannon," Said Mr. Jory, putting his other hand on my other shoulder. "This is not your fault. No matter what you think, it's not your fault. Jack just got sick, that's all. And he's not going to die. He's going to be fine."

I walked over to the bed, where my father lay, and looked at him. He looked so peaceful, yet so sick. I stared at him for a long time. Mr. Jory excused himself out of the room so we could be alone, shutting the door behind him. I stared at my father for a few moments, and then sat on the bed next to him. It felt strange to be this close to my father, but it also felt right. As if none of the past events ever happened. I brought myself to admit that….I loved my father. Now more than ever. And I knew…that in a way….he loved me too. I decided to talk to him; just like I always had before I found out he was alive.

"Daddy…" I whispered. "I don't know if you can hear me…but… if you can…I want you to know that….I love you…I love you so much. I'm so…so sorry for the way I treated you…I know I was wrong. I now understand that you were just shocked….and I didn't except that. Dad…I know you still love my mother, because if you didn't…than you wouldn't have drawn a beautiful picture of her. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't love me, though. I wouldn't love me, either. I also want you to know…that….I didn't mean what I said about wishing you were dead. I didn't mean…I didn't mean anything I said. Please…Daddy…please, find a place in your heart to forgive me…because I don't know what I'll do if you don't. I spent my whole life thinking you were dead….but you being alive is…the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. So please…you…you just have to wake up….Dad…I love you…so much….and you just…you have to…" By now, I was crying heavily. I put my head on my dad's chest, enjoying the closeness between me and my father. I just hoped he would wake up. I remained there for a few moments, than, after drying my tears, went back into the living room where Mr. Jory was standing, with a few blankets and pillows in his arm.

"I figured we'd stay here, at least until he gets better. Do you want me to get you a cab so you can get a change of clothes from the hotel?" He asked.

"No, I'll get them later. I want to be here in case da…uh…Mr. Dawson wakes up."

"You know Shannon, I think he'd like it if you called him 'dad'. I think he's been waiting to hear you say that for the past day and a half."

I nodded. "When my father wakes up, I'm going to make sure that everything starts over with us. I…I love him….and I want to spend the rest of my life with both my parents, not just my mother."

The day went by quickly. I tried to read some of the art history books my father had on his bookshelf, but I couldn't concentrate. I tried drawing, but I couldn't concentrate on that, either. I knew that I needed to be with my dad right now. I spent the majority of the day with him, even though he was unconscious. I talked to him every once in a while, urging him to wake up. I sat there, looking at him, and at the end of the day, around nine o'clock, I fell asleep on the couch.

_Scott's point of view_

Scott fell asleep on the chair in the living room, next to Shannon, who was already in a sound sleep. He felt so bad for the young girl, blaming herself for Jack's condition, when she had nothing to do with it. He also felt sorry for her, she was so tired. She spent the whole day at his bedside, never leaving. Scott was just glad she was willing to give Jack another chance. He knew how sorry Jack had felt after the way he treated her, and Scott had a feeling that things would get a lot better.

Scott was awoken from his sleep when he heard a voice coming from the bedroom Jack was in.

"Shannon….Shannon…" was the name he heard being mumbled over and over again.

Scott walked into the room, to see Jack, whose eyes were still closed, but he continued to mumble Shannon's name. He walked closer to his bed.

"Jack?" Scott whispered, seeing if he was awake.

Scott sat down next to him on the bed, and shook him a little.

"Jack?" Scott whispered again. His eyes fluttered open.

"Scott? What are…what are you doing here?" He asked in a voice so hoarse, it was almost a whisper.

"You have the flu. I found you in your room, unconscious. You were burning up. You still are." Scott whispered.

Jack didn't say anything at first. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again. He took a few deep breaths.

"Um…Shannon…did she…" Jack started, but Scott decided to finish his sentence for him.

"Jack…Shannon spent the whole day by your side. She didn't leave once, until I insisted she get some sleep. She's been taking great care of you. Jack…she blames herself for what happened. She thinks this is her fault."

"What? She's actually here? Why did she come? Why…why does she even care? I thought…I thought she hated me." Jack whispered.

"No…she doesn't hate you at all. In fact, she loves you. The second I told her you were sick, all she did was blame herself and spend the whole day taking care of you." Scott explained.

"But…why…why would she blame herself?"

"Jack, remember yesterday, when she said you would be better off dead? Well, she kinda let that get into her head….and….well she thinks that because of her words…that's why you're sick."

"But why would she think that? I deserve to be like this anyway, she was right about everything she said about me." He whispered, looking away from Scott.

"Jack, you know what I think? I think that it's high time you two started to get to know each other better. Talk to each other…listen to each other." Scott said.

"Oh…but…she won't want to talk to me. She hates me. I know it." Jack sighed.

"I don't think so Jack. Actually, she told me she loves you. She even caught herself referring to you as 'Dad' once. She wants to spend the rest of her life knowing and loving her father, Jack Dawson. Don't you understand that?"

Jack nodded. "Yes. I do. And I love her too. It just took me until now to realize I already knew I loved her. Where is she? Can I see her?" Jack said hoarsely.

"No, Jack. It's the middle of the night. Let the girl sleep. She's exhausted. I'll have her come in to see you first thing in the morning."

"Alright." Jack whispered, disappointed.

"Good night, Jack." Scott said, getting up from Jack's bed.

"Night Scott." Just before Scott left the room, Jack whispered something, but a little louder. "Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh…thanks for uh….everything."

"Jack, I was glad to help. Get some sleep now, alright?"

Scott closed the door behind him, leaving Jack to sleep.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

_Shannon's point of view_

The next morning, I woke up, not realizing where I was. Then, seeing Mr. Jory asleep on the chair next to me, I remembered I was in my father's apartment. I sat on the couch for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. Then, Mr. Jory started to stir. His eyes popped open.

"Oh…good morning, Shannon. Sleep well?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes. I didn't realize how tired I was last night until I lied down."

"Oh, that reminds me. Jack woke up last night." Mr. Jory said in a serious tone. "Do you want to go see him?"

I looked down at my feet. "But…what will I say to him?"

Mr. Jory smiled. "Don't worry. I think it will all fall into place."

Sighing, I got up, straightened my dress, and fixed my hair. This was it. I was going to try to make peace with my father.

I slowly opened the door, and quietly stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. I looked at my dad, who was still asleep. He looked the same as yesterday, still pale, still burning up.

I walked over to his bed, and sat down next to him. I watched rise and fall of his chest for a moment, thankful that he was only asleep, not unconscious. I stroked his blonde hair, realizing that he really did look like how my mother had described him. As I was stroking his hair, he started to stir, but his eyes remained closed. After a bit more stirring, his eyes fluttered open.

He squinted, still adjusting to the light from the sun coming from the window. Then, he focused his eyes on me. This time, though, I didn't see anger and sadness in his eyes. I saw love, and sorrow.

"Shannon…" He whispered, his voice extremely hoarse.

I smiled a bit, thankful that he was finally awake.

"Scott was right. You…you really are…here." He breathed out the words.

"He brought me here…to take care of you." I said, softly.

"Why…why did you come? I…I thought…I thought you hated me." He said, turning his head away from me.

I sighed. "I…I could never hate you." I explained. "You're my father, after all. But…I would understand if you hated me…though. I…I…did this…it's all my fault." I said, my voice slightly cracking.

My dad sighed. "Why would you think that?"

"Because…after what I said yesterday. All the things I said…I'm so sorry." I said, my voice cracking a lot this time.

"Shannon…why are _you _apologizing? I deservedeverything you said. I was an ignorant, self centered, fool. You couldn't have said it better. I have been one for thirteen years. I'm sorry…for not even giving you a chance, Shannon. I really should of…" He trailed off, his voice now cracking, too.

"Look," I said, taking a deep breath. "Why don't we just…start over? Because…I don't want to loose you. I've wished you were alive my whole life, and now that you are….it's…the greatest thing….that's ever happened to me. And…I've loved you my whole life. Now…more than ever."

"You know," my dad said, his voice cracking more than ever, and I could see signs of tears in his eyes. "I've always loved you, too. Even though…even though I've never knew about you, I think…something inside of me always loved you. I know it sounds strange…but I really do…love you…Shannon. You remind me so much of Rose. You really do have her smile, you have her hair, but most of all…you have her personality…you have her fire. You're stubborn and hard-headed, and that's what I love about you. You're so much like her. And… I still love your mother…I don't know why I would ever say I didn't. I was stupid to say that. I…I'm so sorry. I don't think you'll ever know how sorry I am."

I swear I saw a tear roll down his cheek. Then another. Then a lot more. My heart skipped a beat. I never thought I would ever see this man; my father; Jack Dawson; who had only been nothing but mean to me, cry. Now, he lay in his bed, pouring his heart out to me, along with his tears.

I continued to stroke his hair. I couldn't think of anything to say, but I realized that words weren't needed right now. After a few minutes, after my father's crying subsided a little, he whispered in a hoarse voice, "I love you, Shannon."

I then started to get teary-eyed; for those were the four words I had been waiting for my father to say to me my whole life.

"I love you too…Dad."

My father's eyes widened. Then, he smiled a bit.

"I've been waiting for you to say those words for three days." He whispered.

I smiled. Then before I knew it, my dad wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him. I lay my head on his chest. We remained like that for a few moments. Then after a little while, Jack lifted my head, by putting his pointer finger and thumb under my chin. He looked right into my eyes.

"You know, you really do have my eyes" He whispered.

Smiling, I laid my head back down on my dad's chest.

Everything was perfect.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

After a few minutes, I broke out of my father's embrace. I would always remember, from that moment on, that the best place to be was in my dad's arms. I knew Scott wouldn't mind how much time I spent alone with my father, as he sat in the living room.

I looked at my father's face, his cheeks still drenched with tears his eyes still red from crying. I wiped the tears from his eyes. I smiled, and he smiled back.

"Shannon? How…how did your mother… survive?" He asked.

"Well…about an hour after the ship sank," I explained, "my mother saw a lifeboat in the distance. At first, she thought both you and she were going to be rescued. But…after calling your name a few times and shaking your hand, she realized, or at least thought, you were dead. So, she had to let you go…let you sink…" I said, remembering the sadness in my Mom's voice whenever she told me this part of the story.

"What did she do next?" My father asked.

"Well…after she let you go, she saw a whistle in a dead officer's mouth. She got of the door, and blew the whistle to get the lifeboat's attention."

My dad sighed. "She was smart, you know. Thank God the whistle was there." He said, running his hand through his hair.

A question immediately popped into my head. One that I had been wondering ever since I found out my father was alive.

"Uh…Dad?" I asked, loving the feeling of the word "Dad" roll off my tongue.

"Yes?"

"How did you…how did you…survive?"

Dad put his clammy hand on my own.

"I guess you've kinda been wondering about that part, huh?"

I nodded.

"Well…I…I felt myself going underwater…I guess a few moments after your Mother was rescued. I was unconscious, and if it hadn't been for not being able to breathe, I might have never woken up. Anyway…once I realized I was underwater, I woke up and started kicking to the surface, which wasn't easy at all. Once I was up, though, I saw that your mother…was gone. I guessed she was either rescued, or maybe…she fell into unconsciousness like I did… and maybe…rolled off the wood."

Dad's body started to tremble as he spoke. He had probably never talked about this to anyone, until now.

"What did you do next?" I asked, feeling the pain he was in.

He swallowed. "I knew…I knew that whether your mom survived or not, I needed to get out of the water. And even though my arms and shoulders were frozen, I somehow managed to climb onto that door. Shannon…I…I called for your mother…so many times. I was...I was so afraid. I prayed that a lifeboat had come and saved her…that's all I cared about. Well…after a few minutes of trying to keep my self warm, another lifeboat came back. They were somewhat close to me…but I knew my voice was too hoarse for them to hear. I had to roll of the door for them to hear my body splash into the water. They put me into the lifeboat, and I was unconscious for the next five days. That's why I was never on the survivor list. They didn't put my name on it because by the time I woke up, it had already gone out. I searched everywhere for Rose, but I figured she had either died…or gone back to Hockley. Her name wasn't even on the list."

A questioning look appeared into his eyes.

I smiled. "You _do _remember what I told you my last name was, _don't you_?"

"Knitting his eyebrows, he shook his head and sighed.

"Dawson. Shannon Dawson." I said, softly, but proudly.

Father's face paled.

"Oh my…now…I…I remember you telling me that…but…but for some…for some stupid reason…I ignored it. I…I can't believe…your Mom…took my last name." He said, love glowing in his eyes.

"Yes." I said, stroking my Dad's hair again. "She wanted to honor you. After _Titanic, _she declared herself a new woman. Not a DeWitt Bukater, not a Hockley, but a Dawson. And might I say, I am proud to be a Dawson. I am proud to honor the most wonderful man in the world. The most wonderful man…who just happens to be my father."

Once again, tears formed in the corners of my Dad's eyes. He wiped them away as fast as he could.

"But…Sh...Shannon…I've been nothing but…mean…for the past thirteen years. And…the things your mother probably told you about me…well…of course I wasn't like that when I met your mom, but…after I found out she was most likely dead…I just…" He stopped.

I smiled. "Bud Dad…don't you see? You changed my mother's life…in so many wonderful ways. And the only reason you were mean was because you missed her."

I gently wiped away the remaining tears in his eyes.

"I love you, Dad." I whispered

He squeezed my hand even tighter. "Shannon, I love you too."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

After my Dad explained how he had traveled all the way to Santa Monica right after the sinking, and how Mr. Jory had offered him a job not long afterwards, I told him how my mother had found a small place to live, how she got through being pregnant with me, and her great job struggle.

I noticed Dad was starting to look bit paler than he had been to begin with, and he looked like he was getting warmer too. He would cough every once in a while, but it wasn't until I finished my story about my mother's life after the sinking when he started violently coughing. It was almost horrifying to witness. With each cough, his chest would heave up and down. His whole body would shake. After he was done coughing, his breathing became irregular. He was so out of breath he trembled.

"Oh, Dad…" I said softly, feeling bad for him.

He took my hand in both of his and squeezed my own.

"Don't worry. I'm gonna be alright." He said, his voice hoarse.

"I wish I was the one sick, not you. You don't deserve it." I sighed.

"Shannon, don't worry. I'm going to be okay." He whispered.

He rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb as he held it.

"So, Shannon. What does your Mom look like now? Is she still beautiful?" He asked, love and wonder gleaming in his eyes.

I nodded. "Yes. She is very beautiful. She's really looked the same, to me, my whole life. She's still got wild, curly red hair, and bright green eyes. Her hair has been the same length as far as I can remember. You know, I don't know how she does it. She makes her beauty seem so effortless.

My Dad reached up towards my red hair and twirled a curly strand around his finger.

"Shannon, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were your Mother's twin. The day you walked into the gallery, I could have sworn you were Rose. You're so beautiful, just like her.

I blushed. I had always been sure I was an ugly troll compared to my Mom. To have somebody tell me I looked like her, warmed my heart.

"Dad, did you really mean what you said about not loving my Mother?" I asked, wanting to know for sure.

"No, Shannon. Of course I didn't." He said.

"Did you love my Mom the moment you saw her?"

He nodded. "Yes, Shannon. When I first saw her outside that first class restaurant, I knew I had found love. She had the saddest eyes, but I knew that somebody would be able to bring it out of her somehow. I love your Mom more than I can say. There's no words to describe my feelings for Rose. And…and I never told her… I really should of." He sighed.

"She told you she loved you, when you two were in the water. Why didn't you say it back?"

"I didn't…I didn't because I…I didn't want to make my death any harder on her. I was almost positive I was going to die, and I figured that if I said I loved her, it would be like saying good bye. I knew your Mom could live if she had the will to, and I didn't want her to give up so easily." He ran his fingers through his hair. Shutting his eyes tightly, he sighed.

"Uh…Shannon?"

"Yes?"

"Do you…do you think…do you think it would of changed things if I told her I loved her?" He asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe. A lot of times, Mom would remind me that my Dad loves both of us so much. And I would ask her how she knew, since you had never told her. But, she said she knew ever since you two kissed on the bow, she didn't need words to know the truth. But I think, that something inside of her wasn't entirely sure." I explained.

He was quiet for a few moments.

"Does…does she know I'm alive?" Dad asked.

I looked down. "No. She told me to write her a letter as soon as I got here, weather I found you or not. But…when I did find you…I didn't know weather to lie…and say I didn't find you…or tell her that…you…you didn't…" I started to cry a little at this part. "That you didn't…love her."

Tears started pouring down my face.

"Oh, Shannon…" My Dad whispered.

He sat up a little bit, and then wrapped his arms around my shoulders. He then gently pulled me down to his chest.

There I was…crying my eyes out with my Dad comforting me—a first for my Father. I cried so hard. I cried for everything. I cried for finally meeting my Father. I cried for my Father being sick. I cried for my Mother, who right now wasn't sure if my Father was alive or not. I cried for my parents having to be separated for thirteen long years. I cried for the sinking of the Titanic, and the innocent souls who perished on it. Everything I could think of, I cried about.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

My Dad didn't speak as I cried. Not a word. But words weren't needed. He stroked my hair with one hand, and rubbed my back with his other. After a few minutes, when I had no more tears left to cry, I sat up, wiping my tears off my face. My Dad wiped off some tears off my face to, though there wasn't many left. He stared at me lovingly for a moment before he spoke.

"Shannon, I am so sorry. I never realized how much pressure was putting on you."

I smiled a little. "Dad, since I haven't written a letter to Mom yet, I will, and tell her only that you're alive and wonderful. She'll be so happy. It will be one of the greatest things that's ever happened to her. I'm sure of it."

My Dad smiled. Then he yawned.

I noticed he looked extremely tired. I had almost forgotten that he had the flu. He must have been feeling terrible.

"Dad, I'm going to leave, so you can get some rest. I want you to get well as soon as you can."

A begging look appeared on his face.

"Aww…but _Shannon_! I'm not _that _tired!" He wined jokingly, as if he was a little boy, begging his mother to stay up a few minutes extra before bed.

"Hey, none of that now, Jack Dawson. I'm not going to stand for any complaining. Now, get some sleep," I instructed with the most serious tone of voice I could speak.

He sighed and smiled.

"Alright…Mom." He joked. We both laughed.

I stood up and fixed the covers. I then walked towards the door.

"Get some sleep, now, alright?" I said softly.

"Alright. I love you, Shannon." He whispered.

"I love you, too." I whispered back.

I walked out of the room and closed the door behind me.

When I entered the parlor, I saw Mr. Jory sitting on the couch reading one of my Dad's art books. He put the book down when he saw me.

"Oh, hi." He said, standing up.

"You've been in there for a good hour, or so. I take it that everything's okay?"

I nodded. "Yes, everything's fine. We talked, and…now, it seems that nothing bad had ever happened. He got really tired, though. I left the room to let him sleep." I explained.

'Shannon, I'm so glad to hear that. I always knew Jack had someone he loved out here, and you and Rose are them."

"Well, I should write to Mother now, I suppose. It's been three days."

I went into the kitchen and found some stationary and a pen in a drawer. I sat down at the table and started to write, knowing exactly what to say.

_Dearest Mom,_

_I apologize for the fact that I didn't write to you right away. Things have been moving fast lately. Alright, I'll answer the question you've been anxiously waiting for. Father is alive. He survived the sinking, and he is living in Santa Monica, just like his resume stated. You were right, Mom. Jack Dawson is the most wonderful, amazing, and astounding man I have ever known, even though I only found out he was alive less than four days ago. I am so happy. Words cannot describe what I am feeling right now._

_So, you're probably wondering how he survived, but that is too long of a story for one letter. But I will tell you that he did suffer hypothermia after rescuers pulled him out of the water, but now, of course, is well again. Except for one thing, he has the flu right now. Mr. Jory, who is Daddy's partner and friend, found him unconscious in his apartment. But don't be worried. He is awake as of this morning and is slowly but surely recovering._

_I love him so much, Mom. He really is everything you've ever talked about. He was a bit surprised to hear I was his daughter, but I think a part of him knew I was alive, and loved me my whole life._

_Well, I guess you're disappointed that it isn't Jack himself writing this letter to you, but I promise I'll have him write to you as soon as he's well enough. Dad loves you, Mom. And I love you. I miss you, and I'll write to you again soon._

_Love,_

_Shannon_


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

The doctor came by a few hours after I wrote my letter to Mom. He took Dad's temperature and said that it was starting to get back to normal. The rest of the day dragged on. I went to visit my Dad a few times, but not for long, because he looked exhausted. Mr. Jory and I spent most of the time in my Dad's living room, considering there was nothing else to do.

I learned that Mr. Jory had a wife and a little baby boy back at home. I told him he should go home to his family, but he said he would wait until dusk until he left.

We both weren't that hungry, and Dad was asleep. Mr. Jory kept asking me if I was sure I didn't need him to stay, but I insisted he get back to his family. He took my letter with him, promising to send it out to my Mom from the post office. After he left, I went in to check on Dad. When I entered the room, I saw that he was tossing and turning in his bed, but was still asleep. I figured he would probably wake up soon, though, and would be starving, since he hadn't eaten in two days. I wasn't that hungry, but Dad would be. I tip-toed out of the room and into the kitchen. I opened up Dad's cabinets and didn't see much; just bread flour, sugar, baking soda, brown sugar, and a box of spaghetti. In the refrigerator, there were some eggs, apples, tomatoes, cheese, milk, and butter. I guessed he spend most of his nights at restaurants. I decided to make spaghetti, since it was my favorite meal and the only thing my Dad really had to eat. I boiled some water for the noodles and made sauce with the tomatoes. After about twenty minutes, the food was almost done. The whole apartment was enveloped in the wonderful smell of cooking spaghetti.

I walked back into my Dad's room to check on him. To my surprise, he was lying wide awake in bed.

"Oh, Daddy! You're awake." I said, surprised to see him awake.

He smiled. "What's that wonderful smell?" He asked.

"Spaghetti. I thought you may be hungry since you haven't eaten in two days."

He smiled. "You were right. I'm starved. Spaghetti's my favorite meal, so I hope you made a lot." He laughed.

My eyes went wide. "Oh my goodness, really? It's my favorite meal, too!" I said, proud to have something else in common with my Dad.

"Well, Shannon, it looks like we have a lot in common. We both have blue eyes, we both like spaghetti…." He trailed off.

"Don't forget drawing. We have that in common, too." I reminded him.

"Drawing? You draw?" He asked, knitting his eyebrows.

"Well, there are nothing compared to yours, but I do like drawing. I love art, in general."

My Dad smiled. "Oh my…Shannon. I would love to see some of your drawings. Did you bring any?"

"Well, I did, but they are all back at the hotel." I said, wishing I had brought them.

"That's okay. If Scott stops by tomorrow, he can take you back to the hotel to get them."

I nodded. "Okay."

My Dad sighed, and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Uh, Shannon?"

"Yes?"

"How…how long are you staying in Santa Monica?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. Mr. Jory only sent my letter to Mom today, and Daddy, she's doesn't even know if you're alive or not. I don't know what she wants to do, but…well…maybe if…you..." I didn't know how to say the rest.

"If I…what, Shannon?" He asked, knitting his eyebrows.

"If you…Dad…well…I don't know really how to put this. Are…are you going to get together with Mom?"

Dad chuckled. "Well…I don't really know, Shannon. Do you think she'll want to be with me once she finds out I'm alive?"

I nodded. "Definitely. There's no one she'd rather spend the rest of her life with than you, Dad. But what about you? Do you still want to-"

Dad cut me off before I could finish the sentence. "Of course. I've only dreamed of being with your mother, for thirteen years. I would give anything to spend the rest of my life with her."

I smiled. But then I realized this was probably a conversation that should take place when my Mom was present.

"So, are you starved, or what? The spaghetti should be ready by now." I asked.

My Dad patted his stomach. "Yeah, I am pretty hungry."

He threw the covers off of him, revealing his bare chest and pajama pants. He started to lean forward, as if he was getting gout of bed. But I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Hey, where are you going? You can't get out of bed yet."

Dad sighed. "Why not?"

"You have to stay under the covers until your flu is gone. Doctor's orders. I'll bring the food to you."

"Aw…but Shannon…I wanted to spend my first meal with my daughter with you, at a table." He complained, sounding like a boy again. It made me chuckle a bit.

"None of that now, Dad. I'm going to sit here with you while you eat, because I don't want your flu to worsen by getting out of bed."

"Alright. I've been defeated." He chuckled.

"I'll go get your spaghetti. Be right back." I got him a plate of spaghetti and a glass of ice water from the kitchen. When I re-entered Dad's bedroom, his face lit up like it was Christmas in July. The plate of hot spaghetti must have made him realize how hungry he really was.

In ten minutes, my Dad had demolished the plate of the spaghetti, afterwards stating it was the best meal he had ever had. I did the dishes, and put the leftover spaghetti into a bowl and into the refrigerator.

When I walked back into Dad's bedroom, he was sitting in bed, with a huge grin plastered on his face, and his eyes glowing.

I knitted my eyebrows.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm so happy. I'm so happy that I feel like getting out of this stupid bed and run to New York and then we all can be a family and I can hold you and Rose in my arms and never let go. That's what I really feel like doing."

I chuckled. "Well, you will, when you get better, of course. I'm happy too, Jack. I don't think I've ever been happier in my whole life."

As the night progresses on, the more I learned about my father. The more I loved him. Before we both knew it, it was ten o'clock, and I could tell my Dad was forcing himself to stay awake.

"Dad, why don't you go to sleep now? You've had an extraordinarily long day." I suggested.

He franticly put his hand in mine. "No, Shannon. I don't want to sleep, yet. I want to talk to you still."

"Dad, who's the parent here? You're supposed to be the one telling _me _to go to bed. But, since this is a special occasion, we'll play it the other way around. Now, Dad, it's time for bed." I said, trying not to smile.

"Alright. Good night, Shannon." He whispered.

"Good night, Dad." I said, turning around and closing the door behind me.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

I woke late the next morning. I got up and snuck into Dad's room to see if he was awake. When I entered, he was sitting up in bed, wide awake.

"How did you sleep?" I asked him when I walked into the room.

"Perfectly." He smiled.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

He smiled even bigger. "Better. I feel great."

"That's wonderful. Your temperature is back to normal, too. I say that you'll be out of this bed in no time."

He put his hand on my cheek. "Yeah. And the sooner I can go to New York with you."

I winced, shocked. "What?"

"Well, I was doing some thinking last night, and I've decided, if it's alright with you, that I'll go to New York City with you, and see what the three of us, you, your mom, and I, are going to do about being a family."

I gasped. "Oh….my….wait…a…a…family? We'll…we'll be a…family?" I asked, still in shock.

He nodded. "How would you like that, Shannon?"

"How would I like that? Let's see…how would I like that…um….that would be just about…the best things that's ever happened in my life!" I squealed.

The rest of the day went by fast. Dad and I talked about our plans to go to New York, and how we would surprise Mom. Dad had already stated that he felt ten times better, but I insisted that he stay in bed until the doctor checked on him.

Around lunchtime, Mr. Jory came by, and took me back to the Monica Hotel to get my clothes and other belongings. I checked out of the hotel, because I knew I wouldn't need to go back there. When I came back to Dad's apartment, Dad was asleep. I thanked Mr. Jory, and he left. I wasn't hungry, and since Dad was sleeping, I didn't make any food. I snuck into Dad's room, and smiled, when I saw him peacefully sleeping, with the sheets intertwined all over the place. Closing the door behind me, I walked back into the living room.

I took out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, and looked around the room for something to draw. Seeing that Dad didn't have anything that amazing to draw in the apartment, I looked out the window in the kitchen. The view wasn't much; just a few buildings down the street and the sun in the sky. Nevertheless, I decided to draw it. After about an hour or so, I finished it. Right after that, there was a knock on the front door. It was the doctor, coming to check on Jack.

"Hello." I said to him, and led him into the apartment.

"Hello, Miss. Dawson. Just here to check on our patient…"

I smiled. "Yes. All we have to do is wake him…he's been asleep all day."

The doctor followed me into my Dad's bedroom, where he was still peacefully sleeping. I went up to his bedside and slightly shook him.

"Dad?" I whispered.

He stirred a bit, and then rolled over to his side, with his back towards me. I heard the doctor slightly chuckle.

I shook Dad once again.

"Dad…" I said a little louder this time. He muttered something, but I didn't understand it.

I turned my head over to the doctor.

"I guess he's a heavy sleeper!" I whispered, and we both struggled to stifle our laughs.

I shook Dad harder this time, and practically shouted his name. He muttered something once more, and then opened his eyes. He squinted against the light, and rubbed his eyes.

"Shannon?" He mumbled, still half asleep.

"Dad, the doctor's here. He's going to check on you, and see how you're doing."

Dad nodded. "Oh, Okay."

But then he lay his head back down on his pillow and closed his eyes.

I laughed. "No Dad. This would require you to be _awake_. Come on." I urged him to sit up.

I was asked to leave the room so the doctor could check on my Dad. After a few minutes, the doctor came back out said that my Dad was better, and could get out of bed whenever he was ready. I thanked the doctor, and then he left.

Walking into Dad's room, I was surprised to see that Dad was out of bed!

"Dad! What are you doing?" I asked, but still smiling.

He shrugged. "Well, the doctor told me I could get out of bed whenever I felt like it, and right now, _I felt like it_. Besides, I feel fine." He shrugged, with a boyish grin on his face.

I sighed. "Well, alright. Just don't overdo it." I said, sounding like I would be _his _mother again. That reminded me. Jack's mother. His_ parents, _in general. Mom told me that his parents had died, when he was fifteen, but she said she didn't know how.

"Hey Dad?" I asked, walking over to the bed and sitting on it. He came and sat next to me.

"Yes?"

"Mom told me that you told her about your parents, and how they had died. Can you tell me how?" I asked.

Dad's face flushed. "…Why?" He asked. I didn't get it. Why was he so pale all of a sudden?

"Well, I mean, can't a girl know about her own grandparents?"

He nodded. "Well, I guess so." He then looked away from me, and he seemed to hesitate, although I didn't know why.

"Well, when I was fifteen, I hung out with a bunch of guys, who I guess you could say, probably weren't the best to be around. Well, to make a long story short, they told me to sneak out of the house one night, so we could meet up in the woods. I knew it was a bad idea, and my parents would be furious if they found out, but I did it anyway. I don't know why. Well, when I came back that night…my house was on fire. It turns out that one of them left a lamp on in the room next to theirs, and the window had been open, causing the lamp to tip over. My Ma and Pa…they died in their sleep. And I should have been there. I could have been able to save them. But…stupid me…I just_ had _ to sneak out." By know, Dad was looking away from me.

I couldn't believe it. Dad blamed himself for his parent's deaths! And here I was, asking him about something that he probably hated to even think about! What a fool I was!

"Dad…it wasn't your fault."

He sighed. "Yeah…it was." He said, matter-of-factly.

"Dad…don't you realize if you had been home, you could of died too?" I asked, trying to make him feel better.

He stared at me for a moment. Then he nodded slightly. "You're right. It's just…hard…you know?"

I nodded. "I know what you mean. I mean, I know my story is a _lot _different from yours, but…I spent my whole life under the assumption you had died. So…in a way, I know what it's like to have someone missing in your life. And it's not easy. Not easy at all. But you'll see them again. Someday, just like how mom told me I'd see you someday. I guess…it just didn't turn out the way she had expected."

"Yeah, well, no more of this stuff. I need your help." He said, standing up again.

"With what?"

He smiled his boyish grin again. "Well I can't just leave all of my stuff here in Santa Monica, can I?"

For the remainder of the day, I helped Dad pack up his clothes and other personal belongings. He really didn't have that much stuff, so it didn't take long. After a lot of discussion and decision making, my Dad decided he would sell his apartment, which would only take a day or two.

By the end of the day, we were both exhausted. There were boxes everywhere, and everything (except for the furniture that would be sold with the apartment) was packed up. I could tell Dad felt better. He was constantly making jokes and making me laugh. I had originally thought packing up his whole apartment would be boring; a waste of time. But I wasn't bored one second. We had just the last box when we both flopped onto the couch. We were really both a mess. Dad had changed from his pajamas into suspenders and a blue shirt, and I had put on a different, simpler dress. Now, my hair was falling out of the braid I had put it into earlier, and Dad had let both his suspenders falls to his sides.

"Well Shannon," Dad sighed, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "What do you say we get cleaned up, and I take you out for our first official dinner?"

I smiled. "Sounds great."

Dad took me to a restaurant called "Gobies" and we both had a great time. As we walked back home, I realized that my face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. When we entered the apartment, we made our way through the maze of boxes. After saying goodnight, Dad walked into his bedroom and I changed in the bathroom and lay down on the makeshift bed on the couch. I smiled as I thought about the day's events, and fell fast asleep.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

The next two days went by quickly. My Dad got his apartment sold faster than I had expected. We ordered tickets to New York City ahead of time, and were planning on leaving on June 17th, which was only in one day. I couldn't believe how fast things were moving, but I loved it. I could tell my dad really did have that adventurous spirit, just as my mom had told me. It was hard to believe that just two weeks ago, I didn't even know my dad was alive, and now here I am with him.

The night before we were officially leaving Santa Monica, I couldn't help but feel anxious. During dinner, Dad noticed me staring at my food, but not eating it.

"Shannon, is something wrong?" He asked, knitting his eyebrows.

I shook my head. "No, why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. You weren't eating."

I smiled. "I'm fine. Just anxious, I guess."

Dad stared at me for a moment, then at his food.

"You uh…you don't mind me becoming part of the family now, do you?" He asked sarcastically, a sparkle in his eye.

"Dad, we don't have the last name 'Dawson' for nothing." I chuckled.

"Yeah." He laughed. Then his face turned serious.

"About that…has…Cal ever…"

I shook my head. "No, thank God. Although I've never met the man before, I hope I never have to."

Dad nodded. "Yeah. I hope to never see him again."

"We probably won't, though. I mean, he hasn't bothered my mom in thirteen years. I think we'll be okay." I smiled.

"I think so too."

The next morning, Mr. Jory came over to help us bring Dad's boxes to the train station. There wasn't many, and we would be able to put them into the storage car of the train. After the five minute cab ride, we were there. After the boxes were put on the storage car, we had to say our goodbyes to Mr. Jory. I could tell my dad was sad to have to leave Santa Monica, and he would miss working with Mr. Jory.

"Well…I guess this is it. I'm gonna miss you, Scott." My dad said, as were about to board the train.

"It's hard to believe. It's been so long, Jack. It's gonna take time to have you not being in the office everyday." Mr. Jory sighed.

"Well don't worry. I'm sure you'll find a guy a lot better than I was." Dad said.

Mr. Jory shook his head. "No. I won't ever find a guy ever like you. I'm blessed to have known you. And the day Shannon walked in, saying she was your daughter, I couldn't of been happier for you. I knew she was the thing missing in your life. And with Rose, I only wish you three the best of all luck."

I could tell my dad was touched by Mr. Jory's words.

"Well uh…thanks Scott. I guess I never had a chance to thank you. Not only for…you know…with Shannon, and being sick, but just…the past thirteen years. Putting up with me and all."

Mr. Jory smiled. "Oh it was my pleasure." He then turned to me.

"Well, it was very nice meeting you, Shannon. I do hope we meet again someday." He said, shaking my hand.

I smiled. "We will. I'll make sure of it."

"And you take good care of Jack, promise?"

I laughed. "Of course I will."

We boarded the train, and found our seats. Sitting down by the window, I waved to Mr. Jory out the window. I leaned back in my seat when the train started moving.

"You're going to miss Mr. Jory." I said, not asking a question.  
Dad looked at me and nodded. "Yeah. He was really the only one who took me in after the sinking. I wish I had been more grateful towards him. He didn't deserve the way I treated him over the years."

I sighed. "Well, he seems like an honest man. And I think he was glad to see you so happy at the end."

Dad smiled. "That's because you found me just in time."

The three day train ride was very much like the one I took coming to Santa Monica, but better. This time, I didn't have the anxiousness inside of me, and the trip didn't seem to take as long. By the third day though, I realized that was when my mom and dad would be reunited after thirteen long years.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

The three day trip was finally over. I stepped onto the platform, suitcase in hand, with my dad right behind me. Our boxes were delivered by a bellman who worked on the train. Since dad only had four, we each took two. I breathed in heavily, glad to be back home. I was so anxious I could hardly stand it. We hailed a cab and I told the driver the address. We stopped in front of the apartment building after a few minutes. Dad looked out the window in awe.

"So this is where you and Rose live." He whispered.

"You ready?" I asked in anticipation.

Dad nodded. "Yep."

Dad paid the cab driver and we got out of the car. I opened the door for my dad, and we made our way up the stairs to the third floor. Unlocking the apartment, I smiled, glad to be home. I noticed Dad, who was frantically looking around. I laughed.

"Mom's at work. She won't be home for another half an hour."

He sighed. "Oh." I could tell he was disappointed.

"Hey, don't worry. You've got your whole life to spend with her."

Dad chuckled as he put the suitcase and boxes down on the ground. "You're right. Now, give me the grand tour."

I frowned. As I looked at the apartment, I noticed it was a shoebox compared to his old apartment in Santa Monica.

"Uh, you know Dad… I'm going to be honest. The place isn't all that great."

Dad laughed. "As long as I have you and Rose, I don't care where I am. And it really isn't that bad."

I shrugged. "Ok well then, follow me."

I gave him a quick tour of our kitchen, small living room, and the bedroom that mom and I share. I all of a sudden wondered what the sleeping arrangements would be. Would mom and dad want to sleep in the same bed? Or would dad sleep on the couch? I guess I would find out later.

Dad followed me back into the living room, and we sat down on the lumpy sofa. I noticed Dad staring at the stack of newspapers sitting on the coffee table.

"I think I have an idea how we might surprise your mom…."

It was five o'clock. Mom was going to be home any minute. Dad and I took our places on the sofa and each picked up a newspaper. As if on cue, the handle started to squeak. We put the newspapers up to our faces, pretending we were in deep concentration reading the newspapers. I was shaking in anticipation. In about two seconds, I would have a real family. That feeling was just so wonderful. I heard the handle being turned, almost as if it was in slow motion. I didn't bother looking at Dad, but I could tell he was anxious by the way he was breathing. The door slowly opened, the squeaking echoing throughout the room. I heard two steps, and then I heard something drop. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see mom was standing there. Although I couldn't see her face, I saw that she had dropped her purse onto the ground.

"You know, we're supposed to be having nice weather this week." Dad said, flipping through the newspaper pages.

"Sunny all week."

Now that our plan had gone through smoothly, I put my newspaper down to see Mom's face. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hung open. She was breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on Dad. I smiled so big, that I didn't think it could get any bigger. Dad stood up, looking right at mom. They both didn't speak at first; they just looked into each other's eyes in astonishment. The silence was antagonizing. Just about when I though the silence couldn't last any longer, Mom spoke in a quiet, hoarse whisper.

"Jack…"


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

It all happened very much like I had expected it to. Mom stood in the same spot, still in shock. Dad slowly walked in front of her, and stopped. He seemed a little unsure of himself, until he slowly wrapped his arms around her. Mom seemed to wince at first, and didn't hug him back. But as dad hugged her tighter, she slowly and shakily put her arms around his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair. She started to silently cry, and neither one of them spoke. I stayed seated on the sofa, and watched this beautiful reunion, and I could even feel my eyes begin to well up with tears. I knew Mom hadn't known we were coming, so all of this probably caught her off guard. I wasn't even sure if she had received my one and only letter yet.

Mom and Dad continued to hug each other, and Mom was still crying. I noticed a tear silently roll down my cheek as well. The moment I had always dreamed of; but never anticipated to ever happen, was occurring right now in front of me. After a minute, Dad broke the embrace with my mother, and stared at her for a moment.

"Rose…I…" Dad was now at a total loss of what to say. I didn't blame him. My mother now had tears rolling down her cheeks, and I was sure Dad was beginning to get emotional too. How could he not? Although my parents seemed to remember that I was in the room, I just sat there quietly on the couch and watched the romantic scene.

My dad put his hand on Mom's face, causing Rose to let out a small cry. She looked like she was struggling to find her voice.

"J…Jack…" She said again in a high-pitched whisper. Dad carefully ran his fingers through my mom's hair.

"You're…you're so beautiful…" He said, and I could hear and feel the emotion in his voice.

"How…" My mom spat out. "How did you…sur…"

"Shh…" My dad put a finger over her lips. Putting both hands on each of her cheeks, he brought his head in closer to hers, and the next thing I knew they were lost in a kiss. It was new to see my mom kiss, because she could never bring herself to love anyone but my dad, even though she thought he was dead. The kiss seemed to last for hours, but finally they pulled apart.

"You're so beautiful…" My Dad whispered again.

Mom still had tears running down her face, but now, to my surprise, a smile.

"How…did you…survive?" She asked, still in disbelief.

"None of that now….we'll talk about that later." Dad whispered.

I could see why they wouldn't want to talk about the Titanic sinking. Only they could understand the tragedy. Mom touched every part of Dad's face, as if to make sure he was real. Dad allowed her to do so, and closed his eyes.

"Rose, I've…I've missed you…so much…" Dad said hoarsely.

"Oh Jack…you won't ever believe…" I knew Mom couldn't begin to explain how much she'd missed him.

"Rose…I never got a chance to tell you…and I wish I had…" Dad began.

"What?" Mom asked confused.

"Rose…I love you." He said, letting out something that sounded like a cry after he spoke the words.

"Oh Jack…" My mom cried. "I love you…I always have."

They were both crying and smiling wildly, and they kissed again. I looked away, smiling. After a minute or two, Dad turned to me.

"You…we…we had a…a…daughter…Rose…" He said softly, as if it was the first time he had heard about it.

"Yes…Jack. We did." My Mom smiled. "The most wonderful daughter in the world."

Tears were really starting to fall as I walked over to my mom and dad and hugged them both tightly. It was the first time we were all together as a family in my life.

"A truly wonderful daughter…"


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

As I listened to Dad explain to Mom how he had survived the sinking, I noticed the massive amount of silent tears rolling down her face. Dad managed to keep his composure, but I didn't know how much longer it would last. By the end, when Dad was explaining how he had started to work for Mr. Jory as an assistant manager, he looked at me with pleading eyes. I was confused at first.

"Uh…Shannon? Do you want to be the one to tell your mother how we met?"

I didn't answer at first. Did he want me to tell her that he had really been mean, rejected me, and said he had not loved her? Or did he want me to say something different?

"Well maybe…I should just let you explain." I suggested, allowing him to tell whichever story he wanted.

"Ok. Well Rose…over the years…I uh…I haven't been the greatest man." He sighed.

Mom knitted her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought you were…dead. Either that or you had gone back to Hockley. I'm sorry. I don't know why I would ever think such a thing. But from the moment I didn't find your name under the survivor list, well…the question of whether you had survived and gone to Hockley or whether you had died…well it kind of tore me apart inside. I became and awful...mean person. The only person who would accept me as a friend was Scott…and I wasn't that great of a friend to him in return. Well…to make a long story short…when Shannon first arrive in the store…I was mean to her before I even found out she was my daughter. And once she told me, I rejected her. I even said…" A tear ran down his face, and he turned around so his back was to me and mom. "I even said…that I didn't…that I didn't _love _you anymore. And Rose…that's a complete lie. Please believe me when I say it was." There was a long pause before he continued.

"Anyway…I uh…reality hit me right after Shannon got mad and left. I saw so much _fire _in her, like I always had in you. That made me realize that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Scott went to talk to her, and I wasn't surprised when he came back saying she didn't want to talk to me. If I hadn't gotten the flu the next day, Shannon might not have come to take care of me, and we would have never sorted out our problems."

I smiled, and put my hand on his shoulder.

"You were right, Mom. He really is everything you ever told me. I love him so much."

That night Mom made dinner. Dad said he was surprised at how good she could cook. During dinner, mom took out everything. My baby book, old photos of me, even my birth certificate, stating that my father's name was Jack Dawson. After declaring that I had been the most beautiful baby he had ever seen, Dad kissed me on the forehead. We talked and laughed about old memories from when I was younger, and the night seemed as if it would never end. All the while, I could see my Mom and Dad constantly staring at each other, with love shining in their eyes. Before we all knew it, it was eleven o'clock.

After much discussion, it was decided that Dad would sleep on the sofa in the living room. Mom had suggested that he come sleep with her, and I offered to sleep on the sofa, but my Dad was far too much of a gentleman, and they were not married. So I said goodnight to Dad, and went into the bed room and changed. Mom came in a few minutes after saying goodnight to Dad. We both crawled underneath the covers, and tried to fall asleep. It was hard for me though, since this had simply been one of the best nights of my life. I had been lying in bed wide awake for a few minutes before my Mom whispered something to me.

"Thank you, Shannon." She whispered.

"For what?"

"For bringing my love back to me."


	22. Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty One

I woke up early the next morning. I was almost positive that I had been dreaming. To make sure, I quietly climbed out of bed and silently opened the bedroom door, careful not to wake Mom. Nope, I was wrong. In the dim light of the morning, I could see my Dad's figure sleeping soundly on the sofa. Smiling to myself, I got back into bed to wait for everyone to wake up. I wondered what the first day of having a real family would be like.

About an hour later, mom started to stir. She smiled when she opened her eyes. Since it was Saturday, she wouldn't have to work. Putting her finger to her lips, she instructed for me to be quiet, and smiled mischievously. I knew she was up to something. I followed her as she silently walked out of the bedroom and into the living room. She stifled a laugh when she saw Dad's sleeping figure sprawled out all over the sofa. Sitting on the side of the couch, she laughed as she ran his fingers through his hair.

"You sure are a heavy sleeper, Mr. Dawson." She said softly and jokingly.

Dad stirred a little, but didn't wake up. Mom laughed.

"Come on Jack. Time to wake up." She shook him a little. He stirred even more, and his eyes drowsily opened.

"Rose?" He asked, closing his eyes again. We laughed harder this time, causing Dad to be fully awake.

"Okay…I'm up, I'm up."

The three of us spent the rest of the day figuring out what we would do for the future. We were caught between still living in New York, or moving someplace else. Since I had always called New York my home, I wasn't necessary jumping up and down to leave. But I had both my parents together, and with them I would happily go anywhere. After _hours _of discussing, joking around, getting off topic, and more discussing, it was finally decided that we would stay in New York. Since our little apartment obviously wasn't big enough, we would have to find a new place. Dad had made a lot of money from working with Mr. Jory, and he was also going to try and find a job, so it wouldn't be much of a problem to move. After we made our decision, dad said he had to run to the store down the block to buy something, but wouldn't tell us what.

We all went out for dinner that night to celebrate. We went to a restaurant my mom and I had never been to before, mainly because we couldn't afford it. The restaurant was nice, and the three of us were all having a great time. There was a dance floor, filled with people. I laughed as I watched my mom and dad dance. Watching them reminded me of the steerage party my mom had once told me about. The way Dad was spinning her on the dance floor sounded like the way he had on the Titanic. I was surprised when Dad came up to _me _and asked for a dance. I laughed and told him I didn't know how. He smiled and said he didn't either. He spun me around on the floor like he did to Mom, and we both shrieked in delight. At the end of the song, we were all exhausted. Mom was laughing out of control. By the time we returned to our table, the food was already there. After we ate, there was a long pause between us. No one really had anything to say. That is…until Dad got up from his seat and stood in front of mom's chair. He slowly got down on one knee and reached for something in his pocket……


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two

My Mom put her hand over her mouth as Dad pulled out the small, closed black box.

"Rose…" He began, looking slightly nervous.

Tears immediately started to fall from my face. I now knew exactly what was going on.

"Rose…thirteen years ago, I met you. After only a day, I fell in love with you. I had nothing to offer you, and you loved me anyway. When we were separated, I was heartbroken, thinking that I would never see you again. I was a mean, stupid man who was never thankful enough for your love over those three wonderful days. But…I have always loved you with my heart and soul. Our love was so strong those three days. We have a wonderful, beautiful daughter to prove it. I never stopped loving you once. Rose…I've lived thirteen years without you. I don't know if I'll be able to make it through another day. Will…will you do me the glorious honor of becoming my wife?" He looked up at her with hopeful eyes as he opened the small black box, revealing a diamond ring.

Mom was crying now, and some people from other tables were staring at them; smiling. Mom now had both hands over her mouth, now totally in shock. Slowly, she nodded.

"Yes…yes Jack. Yes!" She exclaimed. Dad stood up and pulled her into a kiss. Then, he took her hand, and smiling, he slid the ring onto her finger. They kissed again, and my Dad wiped the tears off my mom's face. Then Dad looked at me.

"Now I guess the only thing left to ask is will you, Shannon, do me the great honor of becoming my daughter?"

I laughed. "Are you kidding me?" I went and hugged him. My mother then joined in on the hug. People around us started to clap, making the moment more and more special.

We returned back to the apartment late that night. I was so exhausted, so I happily said goodnight to my mom and dad and slipped inside the bedroom. As I started to drift off to sleep, I smiled, as I heard mom and dad's laughter from the other room.

The next morning, I surprisingly slept in, which I didn't do often. I noticed the other side of the bed was empty, but it was obvious Mom had gotten out of bed a while ago. I smelled something wonderful, and I let my nose lead me to the kitchen. I smiled as I saw that eggs, bacon, and a pitcher of orange juice were sitting at the table, with the plates and silverware neatly set.

"Good morning Shannon. Did you sleep well?"

Mom asked, walking over to me and kissing me on the forehead.

"Morning." I replied, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

The next few days went by quickly. We searched for a new apartment, because ours was way too small. Dad went out job-searching on Tuesday, and came back with bad news. Mom and I weren't surprised though, because it had been such a struggle for Mom as well.

We searched for a new apartment for five days. Everyone we found listed was the same quality and size of the current one we lived in. I could tell my Mom was getting really fed up. On the fifth day, she was tired of it. We all were. We were all looking through the house listing section in the newspaper, myself included. There wasn't much to choose from. Eventually, Mom threw her newspaper down on the coffee table.

"You know, I'm sick of this. We've been searching forever and have gotten nowhere. This obviously isn't working, so why are we even trying?" She exclaimed, now slightly angry.

Dad chuckled at her small outburst. "You know, we don't _have_ to live in New York. We could go someplace else." He suggested, smiling.

"He's right Mom. It's time for a change. We've been in New York for like…my whole life!" I said.

"What do you say?" Dad asked her.

Mom thought for a moment. "You know what, you two are right. Shannon and I have been living here for much too long. There are almost no jobs here except for my stupid pointless secretary job. You know what Jack? Let's move." She said, as if the idea wasn't suggested already.

Dad and I smiled, as we forced ourselves not to laugh.

"Alright, Rose. We'll move. Where do you want to go?"

"I really don't know. Anywhere, as long as I had you two, of course."

I thought for a moment. "What about Santa Monica?" I suggested. "I know you just sold your apartment there and everything, but you and mom had talked about going there anyway."

Mom and Dad looked at each other.

"She's right, you know. We did talk about that. And I didn't ever go to that pier. It didn't seem right without you. So we'd be able to do what we talked about." Dad mentioned.

"Alright. Let's go to Santa Monica!"


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

One week later…….

"Please, do come in." The real estate agent said as he held the front door open. This was the eighth house Dad, Mom and I had been to today, and we were tired. The house we were now at was white, with light blue shudders. It certainly did look like a beach home, considering it was only a block away from an actual beach. Out of all the houses for sale that we had looked at, I definitely liked this one best.

When we entered the house, I already liked it even more. It had many windows, giving the room natural light from the sun. The walls were light green, blue, and white. As we toured each room, I could just imagine Mom, Dad, and me living here together. When we were done looking at the house, Dad shook the real estate agent's hand, and promised to let him know what we had decided. The three of us then proceeded to walk back to Mr. Jory's house. Dad had written to Mr. Jory telling him that we were going to move to Santa Monica. Mr. Jory had been so excited, and insisted that we stayed in his home until we found a place of our own. My mother was introduced to Mr. Jory and I met his wife, Madeline, and their baby boy, Christopher for the first time. Mr. and Mrs. Jory were happy to have us, and even happier to hear that Mom and Dad were engaged.

When we returned, Mrs. Jory was making dinner in the kitchen, and Christopher was sitting in his high chair. He squealed when we came in.

"How did it go?" Mrs. Jory asked, as she stirred the stew on the stove.

"Pretty good, actually. I think we may have found a place about a block away from here."

"Oh, that's good. We'd be close together, then." She said, going up and hugging my mom, who looked exhausted. "Scott should be home any minute. Then we'll have dinner."

Mr. Jory had offered my Dad his job back at the art store, right after we bought a house. My dad took it gratefully. Mr. Jory had already hired another man, a young twenty one year old who was looking for a summer job, there would be more help around the store.

That night at dinner, we all ate hungrily. I smiled as I sat at the table with my parents and the Jory's. Mr. and Mrs. Jory were so kind, and I was glad that we would know some people here when we finally settled in. Everyone at the table was talking; Mr. Jory and my dad about the new employee at the art store, and my mom and Mrs. Jory were obsessing over little Christopher, who was eating is food with his hands, making a mess all over the place.

"Well, Shannon. It looks like you'll be starting school in a month. Are you excited?" Mr. Jory asked.

School. I had almost forgotten about school. I was a good student, and got good grades, but I was suddenly nervous. I had lived in New York my whole life, and now that we had moved I would have to start over again, at a new school. I would be going into the eighth grade, with new people, new teachers, everything. With all the excitement, I had forgotten.

"Yes…yes I am excited." I said, not entirely sure if I meant it.

"Ah, yes. You'll like the school here. It's real big, right on the edge of town." Mr. Jory explained.

"Your mother was just telling me how great of a student you are." Mrs. Jory cut in. "Straight A's, as she tells me."

I blushed. "Mom…" I normally got embarrassed from compliments.

"We probably should get you enrolled early," Mom said. "That way there'll be nothing to worry about later."

Just then, as if on cue, Christopher started wailing. We all laughed at his sudden outburst.

"Excuse me. I think this is his way of telling us he wants to go to bed." Mrs. Jory laughed, lifting him out of his high chair.

"Can I take him up?" I asked, desperate for any excuse to get out of the school conversation.

"Sure, Shannon." She said, handing me Christopher. I cradled him in my arms gently, as he continued to cry.

"Let me know if you need any help, if he doesn't stop crying." Said Mrs. Jory.

"I will."

I didn't have much experience with little children, not to mention babies, but as I carefully walked up the steps with Christopher, I couldn't help but smile, and I was eager to see how I would manage Christopher.

I prepared him for bed, carefully sliding his little footie-pajamas on, and humming to him. I remembered how my mother used to hum to me when I was young, to calm me down. It certainly worked for Christopher. He had stopped crying, and was now starting to look tired. I laid him down, and turned off the lights. As I walked down the hallway towards the steps, I was thinking about how wonderful it would be to have a little brother or sister. Since I was an only child, I had no idea what it would be like. But now that my parents were together, all I had to do was wait and see what would happen in the future. Our future.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**I'm so sorry about the chapter delay, but thank you all for your reviews! I really appreciate them, and please keep reviewing!!! I literally ran out of ideas for what would happen after chapter 22, and I know chapter 23 was pretty boring. SO, I'm going to add some more drama and MAYBE a few parts from either Rose or Jack's perspective. I don't know, I'm still deciding. Oh and also I'm going to fast-forward a week or so for this chapter, just to get the show on the road. Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing, it really encourages me to write more. Alright, here goes chapter 24..**.

Chapter Twenty Four

_Two weeks later…_

"Rose, you look absolutely wonderful!" Mrs. Jory gasped.

And it was true. My mom certainly was a vision. She wore a white lace gown; simple but beautiful on her. Her curly red hair was down, flowing over her shoulders. In her hands, white roses. To make her image even more breath-taking, she had the widest, most beautiful smile across her face. The rest hardly mattered, and hardly compared to her smile.

"It's true, Mom. Dad's going to be speechless. You're beautiful." I grinned.

The plans for the wedding were running smoothly so far. Mom and I left our new home early in the morning, to the Jory's house. There, Mrs. Jory helped my mom and I dress for the wedding. My maid of honor dress was lavender, my mom's favorite color. It really was pretty, and Mrs. Jory's friend, Mrs. Langer, whose family was also attending the small, simple wedding, helped me with my hair. I smiled the whole time. I could hardly believe this was happening. I had never imagined it. My mother, getting married, to my father. Whom I thought was dead. I shook my head, and laughed in spite of myself. Any second now, I would wake up from this dream and be back in my old New York apartment, without my father. But I was reassured that this was indeed reality when the three women started to chuckle. I looked up, realizing I had forgotten that they were in the room.

"Daydreaming again, Shannon?" My mother asked, smiling.

I laughed. "I'm sorry. Just…I can't believe it. I just can't!"

Mom walked over to me and hugged me. "I know. It feels like a dream, doesn't it?"

"Exactly what I was just thinking."

"Well, you better believe it, Shanny. Because by the end of the day, we will truly be Rose and Shannon Dawson." She smiled.

"Its funny though." I explained. "I've been a Dawson my whole life. Nothing's changing; I will still be Shannon Dawson. But, it's still just so different. Because I will be a new Dawson. Not just Shannon Dawson, the fatherless girl who bears his name anyway, but I will really and truly be Shannon Dawson. I can't explain how wonderfully different it will feel every time I say my own name."

Mom ran her fingers through my hair. "Well, I guess if we were to title this part of our lives, we could call it, 'Rose and Shannon Dawson. Reborn for the better!'" We all started to laugh. I realized, it was true. The very second my parents said 'I do,' I would truly be reborn for the better.

We arrived at the church at two forty five, just as we had planned. The four of us went straight down to the Church basement, for the final touches on me and my mom's hair, and to give us more time to make sure everything and everyone was in order. The audience would be small. The Jory's would be there, of course. Mr. Jory would be my dad's best man. Mrs. Jory would be seated with little Christopher. The only other family attending would be the Langer's, who were friends of the Jory's. I had only met Mrs. Langer, who was very nice. I had yet to meet Mr. Langer, and their son, Peter, who was about my age.

After Mrs. Jory's continuous fussing over our hair, the clock had finally struck three o'clock. It was time. Mrs. Jory and Mrs. Langer went upstairs to take their seats. As the maid of honor, it was my job to make sure to have plenty of handkerchiefs on hand in case the bride needed one. But, as I suddenly felt my eyes become heavy, I realized that the bride may not be the only one who would need them.

Almost as if I was in a trance, I walked down the aisle, smiling at my dad, who was at the alter. When I finally reached the alter, I stood in the spot I was supposed to stand, and awaited my mother to make it down the aisle. As she walked, I looked briefly at our small audience. Mrs. Jory was smiling as she held Christopher, who was sound asleep. Mrs. Langer was sitting next to a man, her husband. He didn't look the least bit uncomfortable, because he had already met with my father and according to Mrs. Langer, they had become fast friends. Sitting next to him, was a boy, Peter, their son. I hadn't met him yet, but from what I saw, he was handsome…

I drew my attention back to my mom, who had just about reached the alter. I took her bouquet, and Dad lovingly reached for her hand. The priest started to recite the vows, but it really all was a blur. I wondered what my parents were thinking. If I could have read their minds, the thoughts probably would have been incomprehensive. All too soon, my parents said "I do", and after a few more blessings and vows, the priest allowed the groom to kiss the bride.

The kiss was so different. It wasn't the fluffy, sappy kind you read about in books that make the woman go weak in the knees. At least, my mother didn't look weak in the knees. The kiss was strong, and so passionate. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. I smiled, realizing that this very kiss was the seal to our new lives together as the Dawson family. I never wanted it to end. I wanted the kiss to last forever. Not just physically, but somehow this kiss was symbolic to our future. As if it was an object, as silly as it sounds. And, all too soon, my parents broke apart from their kiss. I smiled, as a tear rolled down my cheek, and the three of us shared a group hug, our first as a real family. Mrs. Jory and Mrs. Langer, who both had tears in their eyes, ran up and hugged us all too. Mr. Jory shook my dad's hand, and my mom and Mr. Langer laughed at the fact that their first meeting place was at the wedding. I noticed Peter was standing to the side, smiling shyly. I would introduce myself eventually—there was something about his eyes that were so intriguing—but first, I went to share a second group hug with my family. As we hugged, I realized my parent's "symbolic kiss" hadn't ended. It would go on forever.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five

The reception room was set up quite simply. There were two round tables with white tablecloths, and a small dance floor in the middle. It was just the "party room" in the back of a restaurant, but it was a perfect place to hold my parent's wedding reception. Several waiters and waitresses were already there. We walked in, still with the huge smiles on our faces. I felt as if nothing could destroy my happiness, let alone anyone else's in the room.

"Welcome, everyone. Can I bring anybody an appetizer?" One of the waiters said once we entered.

We all sat down in two of the round tables. I was fairly disappointed that all the seats at my parent's table quickly filled up as Mr. Jory and Mr. Langer sat down, but now I could use this opportunity to say hello to Peter. I sat down next to him, a bit shyly. He looked over at me, and smiled a little.

"Uh…hi." He said.

"Hello." I said back, a little unsure of myself.

"I'm Peter. You, uh, probably already know that." He said, looking away.

"Well…I'm Shannon. You probably already know that too." I said, laughing a little as I realized I was just embarrassing myself.

"Uh…congratulations…about your parents. They look happy." He said.

"Thank you. I'm really happy for them too." I said, glad we finally had something to talk about.

"Do you mind if I ask…why your parents are getting married…now? I mean…after you were born?" He asked, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, well…" I started, but then I realized the last thing I wanted to talk about was the Titanic. "You know, it's a really long…sad…story. Perhaps…can I tell you later sometime? I promise I will." I insisted.

"Sure. No problem."

The appetizers came and Peter and I ate in silence for a few minutes. We were both watching my parents, who were laughing and joking with Mr. Langer and Mr. Jory. I looked over at Peter. He was a little taller than me. He had brown hair, and dark brown eyes. What I hadn't noticed from before was how much his eyes lit up the room. They were so wide, and so bright. He really was handsome. I laughed quietly to myself. Here I was, at my parent's wedding, and I'm starting to fall for someone I hardly even know, just for his looks. I turned my attention back to my parents. They looked so happy as they ate the appetizer the waitress had gotten them.

"How old are you?" Peter suddenly asked.

"Thirteen."

"Oh, me too. That's great then, we'll be in the same grade." He said, smiling.

"Oh, good. You wouldn't mind…" I stopped, wondering if this question would sound too much like flirting to him. "You wouldn't mind...showing me around…sometime, would you? I just moved here a few weeks ago…"

"Anytime you want. Santa Monica's a pretty huge place, so it may take a while. Have you been to the pier yet?" He asked, seeming anxious.

"Yes. We went the day after we got here. My dad had once told my mother about it, but…we never came around to going. It was amazing, though." I said, smiling at the memory.

"Isn't it? Maybe when I show you around, we could go there ourselves."

"I'd like that." I said, thinking about what it would be like to ride on the Ferris wheel with this boy who was still an acquaintance to me. I could see it almost clearly.

"Good. I would too." He said, and I swore I saw him blush a little.

We sat in silence for a moment, having run out of things to talk about.

"So um…what do you like to do? Like, in your spare time." I asked, finally coming up with something to talk about.

"I mostly like to do run. I do a lot of running, actually. I know it's silly, but…sometimes when I run…well…it's sorta like flying, you know?"

I shook my head. "I don't think it's silly at all. I think it's great, actually. Everybody should do something they love."

He _did_ blush this time. "Thanks. So…what do you like to do?"

I shrugged. "I like to draw. My dad's an artist, so I guess I inherited it."

"That's amazing! You have to show me some of your drawings sometime."

I laughed, and shook my head. "No, no, you don't want to see them. They're really nothing. Just doodles, really."

"Please? I'd really like to see them." He asked, his eyes begging. I blushed, realizing I couldn't refuse his sparkling eyes.

"Alright. But I'll warn you—you'll be disappointed. My drawings aren't that special."

Just as I was saying that, my dad walked over and leaned over between me and Peter's chairs.

"Now what did you just say, Miss. Dawson?" Dad asked. Then he looked at Peter.

"Is she trying to tell you she's not a good artist?" He asked, in a fake accusing tone.

Peter laughed and nodded. "She's trying to, but I don't believe her. I think she's not giving herself enough credit."

"You're absolutely right. I'll have you know that my daughter here is one of the best artists I've ever known. Better than me, by far."

By now, I was blushing ferociously. "Dad…" I said, smiling, but embarrassed.

Peter laughed. "Now I'm going to make you show me."

My dad laughed. "Alright you two. Having fun?"

We both nodded. "Yes, Mr. Dawson. So far, this has been great."

"Good. I'm glad you're enjoying it. What about you, angel? Having a good time?"

Over the weeks, dad had started to call me 'angel' instead of using my name. Honestly, I liked it. Even if he did call me it in front of Peter.

"I'm having a great time, Dad. I'm so happy, you have no idea."

"I'm happy too, angel." Dad said. "You two have fun now. Be prepared, we're going to dance later." He said, and then smiled and walked back to his table.

"Your dad's a nice guy." Peter pointed out.

I smiled. "He is."

The day continued smoothly. We had lunch, and my parents received their wedding gifts. Mr. and Mrs. Jory gave them a china set, to use in our new home. The Langer's gave them some cooking pots and pans. The Jory's also gave me some new colored pencils and a pad of paper, I guess as a present to congratulate me on having a complete family. I thanked them graciously. After all of the wrapping paper was picked up off the floor and thrown away, a few men with instruments came in, and started to play Irish music, very much like the kind my mother described to me that was played on Titanic. I realized that a live band was part of the deal when it came to a wedding reception. My dad and mom started laughing and spinning each other around on the dance floor. Mrs. Jory put Christopher in his carrier and started to dance with Mr. Jory. Following them was Mr. and Mrs. Langer. I shyly walked back over to a chair right at the edge of the dance floor and watched. Out of nowhere, Peter walked over to me and offered me his hand. It took me moment, but then I realized he wanted me to dance with him. I blushed and shook my head.

"Peter…no. I can't." I laughed

He knitted his eyebrows, confusion sparkling over his beautiful brown eyes. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean, I can't dance." I said, embarrassed to admit it.

"Oh." Peter said. I almost expected him to put his hand down, and walk away. But his hand still reached out to me. "Come on. I'll show you. It's not that hard."

I was definitely afraid. What if I stepped on his foot? What if I tripped and fell? I looked questioningly into Peter's eyes. The warmth in them told that I could trust him. And I did. Hesitantly, I slid me hand into his and stood up. He brought me over to the center of the dance floor. The music was fast, and very upbeat. I was almost hyperventilating I was so afraid. I had a feeling something would go horribly wrong. If only I had known that we'd be dancing! I should have known…but it was too late now. I wish I had been smart enough to at least have practiced a little with Dad before today. Being my naturally clumsy self, I knew I wouldn't be able to pull this off. I tilt my head up so I was looking Peter right in the eyes.

"Peter, wait." He didn't let go of my hands. "I…I can't do this." I said. He seemed to not have heard me.

"We're gonna have to get a little bit closer." He said, with a small smile. I suddenly felt a hand on the small of my back. The hand pushed me forward. "Like this." I found myself being against Peter. I didn't mind the closeness. But I then remembered what we were going to do. He lifted my arm up, and I assumed this was the position we were going to dance in. He started to move his feet, and I struggled to follow.

"I don't know the steps." I said, wondering if anything else could possibly go wrong.

"Neither do I, just go with it!" Peter said, as we started to spin and pick up more speed. I let out a laugh, which sort of sounded like a gasp. It was either out of delusion or the fact I was dancing with Peter.

"Don't think!" Peter reminded me, as he started to pick up even more speed. I let out another small laugh, absolutely sure that this time it was because I was dancing with Peter. We started to pick up more speed, bouncing up and down and spinning. Randomly, I started laugh with joy. I screamed a little, hardy believing what I was doing.

"Woo hoo!" Peter let out, as we started go faster than I thought possible. I realized, I was having fun! I let out a few more joyful shrieks, and we continued to dance. We spun quickly around the floor. I noticed that my parents had started to do something different. They held each other's hands, and, leaning backward, started to spin with amazing speed. Without thinking, I took Peter's hands in mine and we started to spin just like them, both of us shrieking with delight. I was laughing so hard, and Peter was letting out another shriek as we continued to spin. All too soon, the song ended. We suddenly collapsed on the ground, roaring with laughter. All the adults started to laugh and clap. Peter stood up, and walked over to me standing in a suddenly gentlemanly form, offered me hand. I was still laughing insanely, and took it as he pulled me up. He then goofily bowed, trying not to laugh.

"Thank you for the dance, madam." He said, in a bad British accent. I laughed.

"You're quite welcome, sir." I said in an accent no better than his. We both doubled over in laughed, holding our sides and desperately trying to catch our breaths.

"Come on," Peter said as he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and his other arm on my arm. "Let's get you seated before you pass out from laughing." He said, as he "escorted" me to the table. I flopped down in my chair, in a very un-ladylike manner. As if anyone cared.

"Why thank you very much, kind sir. I'm appreciative of the fact that you didn't let me faint over there." I said again in my bad British accent. Peter sat down in the chair next to me.

"Pleasure was all mine, miss." He laughed, the sparkle in his eyes shining greatly. Just then, the waiters and waitresses came with our dinner.

After we ate, we danced a little more, not as crazily as we had before. The band played a softer, sweeter tune. Without even asking, Peter offered me his hand and led me to the dance floor to join my parents, the Jory's, and Peter's parents. Peter and I mostly talked as we danced, but I couldn't help but be distracted by his eyes, his face, his hand on my waist. I could hardly believe that this was only the first time I had met him, and I felt as if I knew him so well, and as if he knew me well too. All too soon, the music ended, as did the night.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six

People who worked at the restaurant were already removing the tablecloths and stacking dirty dishes onto trays just as everyone was walking out the door. The restaurant was completely empty, considering we had stayed past closing time. I could hardly believe the events of the day. It was still a dream. It would take a while for me to realize that dreams can easily be reality. We stood outside of the restaurant, saying goodbye to each other. It was already planned that I would spend the next three days with the Jory's. Mom and Dad couldn't afford to go on vacation, but I decided they deserved some time alone anyway. That way, they could go where ever they wanted without having me to tag along with them. The Jory's were glad to have me with them, though. So, I hugged my parents tightly, saying that I would miss them over the next three days. I turned around, to be face to face with Mrs. Langer, who hugged me, and said that I looked beautiful and went on about how she couldn't wait to see me more often. I shook Mr. Langer's hand, and then was in front of Peter.

"Well, I guess this is it." Peter sighed.

"Yes. It was fun, wasn't it?" I asked.

"Are you kidding? That was the most fun I've had all summer." He smiled.

I laughed. "Well, thank you. You know, for teaching me how to dance and everything."

He chuckled. "Oh, come on. You and I both know you had it in you."

"Well, thank you for helping me bring it out, then I guess." I laughed.

"You're welcome. Hey—you wouldn't mind if I stopped by the Jory's one of these days and took you around town, would you?" He asked hopefully.

"Of course I wouldn't mind. I would love it!" I said, trying to imagine it once again.

"Good. Then I'll make sure I do." Gracefully sliding my hand into his own, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it softly. My heart soared at the feeling of his warm lips on my hand.

"Sleep well, Shannon." He whispered, and hurried off into his parent's car. I felt my knees go weak. I stared at the car until it was no longer in sight.

"Ready to leave, Shannon?" Asked Mr. Jory, interrupting me from my staring.

"Yes, I am." I sighed. I hugged mom tightly one last time.

"We'll call you, Shanny. I love you." My mom noted. After a kiss on the forehead from my dad, I slid into the backseat of the Jory's Renault. They had offered to drive my parent's home, but they insisted they would just take a cab. Mrs. Jory fastened sleeping Christopher into his baby seat and then went up in the front seat next to Mr. Jory.

"What. A. Night!" She sighed. "I think I'm going to fall asleep before my head hits the pillow."

I chuckled. "Thank you, for allowing me to stay with you. It's very kind of you.

"Oh, you know you're always welcome with us, Shannon. And it was very considerate of you to let your parents be alone for three days." Mr. Jory pointed out.

When we finally reached the Jory's house, I was half asleep. It was surprising how tiring a day of dancing and eating and happiness could be. I quickly went upstairs and put my small suitcase on the guest bed, and came back downstairs to say goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Jory.

"Well, I think I'm going to turn in for the night." I announced.

"Goodnight, Shannon." Mrs. Jory said walking over to me and kissing me lightly on my forehead.

"'Night Shannon." Called Mr. Jory as I walked up the stairs.

Once in the guest bedroom, I slipped out of my dress and hung it neatly on a hanger in the closet. I washed up in the bathroom, and finally crawled into bed. I thought about Peter. About how charming he had been how much a gentleman, and how much of a clown he had acted like. I was excited to see him whenever he decided to come during the next three days. I couldn't put my finger on it, but somehow I felt as if I had known Peter a lot longer than just a day.

The next morning, I slept late. I opened my eyes to the bright sunshine, and smelled breakfast downstairs. I changed as quickly as I could, and went downstairs. Mrs. Jory was at the stove, preparing some eggs, while Christopher was sitting happily in his high chair.

"Good morning!" I said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Jory turned around. "Why good morning, Shannon! Did you sleep well?" She asked, smiling.

"Wonderfully. I was so exhausted last night. I hardly remember coming in the house." I laughed.

"I know what you mean. Scott is still asleep, that lazy man." Chuckled Mrs. Jory. After breakfast, I helped Mrs. Jory do the dishes and clean up Christopher. Since it was Saturday, Mr. Jory wasn't at work. He came downstairs right after Mrs. Jory and I had finished cleaning up.

I mostly read in my room for the morning. I found it to be a great past-time. Around noon, Mr. Jory knocked on my door.

"Shannon, you have a phone call." He told me.

I walked downstairs, wondering who could possibly be calling me. Perhaps mom and dad. Yes, it had to be one of them.

I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi Shannon!" A voice said.

My eyes grew wide, and I tried not to gasp. Mrs. Jory chuckled softly at my expression. "Peter! Hi!" I said, sounding way too excited.

"Great party last night, huh?" He asked.

"It was amazing. I had a lot of fun."

"Me too." He sounded like he was smiling, but obviously I didn't know for sure.

"So, I don't expect you're busy today, are you?" He asked, hopefully.

I struggled for my voice to sound nonchalant. "Um, actually, no. I'm not busy." I said, now remembering what he had said he would do over the next three days with me.

"Good. So now's not a bad time to take you around town?"

"Now? Let's see, um…" I looked at Mrs. Jory with pleading eyes. She smiled and nodded. "Now's great!" I exclaimed back into the phone.

"Great. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes, alright?"

"Alright. See you soon." I said, about ready to hang up.

"Oh wait—Shannon! You promised me I could see your drawings! Bring them with you, alright?"

I sighed. "I was hoping you would forget about that."

Peter laughed. "Me? Forget? No way. Bring all of them. I want to see them all."

I laughed. "Alright. But as I said, you'll be disappointed. I'm no Picasso."

He chuckled. "We'll just see about that." And he hung up.

I would have jumped for joy, but I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of Mrs. Jory. But I couldn't stop myself from smiling in excitement.

"Somebody's excited." Chuckled Mrs. Jory.

I blushed. "Yeah…well…I…I'm gonna go…get ready." I said, having embarrassed myself. I heard Mrs. Jory laugh as I walked up the stairs.

Hastily rummaging through my suitcase of clothing that I brought with me, I changed into a prettier, light blue dress. My mom had purchased it for me a year ago, and it was my favorite. I brushed my hair, desperate to remove all the knots and tangles. By the time I was done getting ready, I heard a faint knock on the door downstairs. He was here!


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven

"Come in." I said, pushing the door open wider for Peter to walk through.

"Oh, hello Peter." Mrs. Jory said, as she walked by. "How nice of you to show Shannon around. Very thoughtful." She smiled.

"Oh, it's my pleasure. I had a great time with her last night, and I want to just get to know her better. I think we'll have fun." Peter remarked. He turned to look at me. "You have your drawings?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

I sighed. "Right here." I said, holding up my brown portfolio of countless drawings. Peter laughed. "Good. Are you ready to leave?"

I nodded. "Yes. I'll be back around six, Mrs. Jory." I promised.

Mrs. Jory chuckled and shook her head. "You two just have fun."

We walked out the door and started to walk down the sidewalk. I realized how suddenly awkward it was to really be alone with him.

"So…where to first, Mr. Tour guide?" I asked with a smile, trying to break the silence.

"Well, I could show you the school. It's closed, obviously, but I can show you where it is."

"Okay. Lead the way."

We walked about half a block, until we were in front of large brick building.

"This is it." Peter said. "The eighth grade classrooms are on the top floor." He explained.

"Well…it looks very…big." I stuttered, not completely sure how to handle this awkward situation.

"Well, do you want to go somewhere else now?" He asked shyly.

"Uh…sure."

"Well, we could go to the park, where you can show me your drawings." He suggested.

Pretending to be frustrated, I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Fine." I said, pretending to pout like a child.  
Peter laughed. "Come on, don't be like that now."

We walked to the park without speaking. Out of the corner of my eye, I realized how bright Peter's eyes were in the sunlight. When we finally arrived, we sat down on a bench, and I hesitantly opened my portfolio. Taking it out of my hands, carefully in order to not have any papers fall out, he looked through my drawings, his brown eyes gazing fascinatingly over each picture.

"Shannon…I…" He stammered, speechless, when he came across a recent picture I had drawn of Christopher, sleeping soundly in his crib.

"Really Peter…they're nothing…" I blushed.

"Are you crazy? These are…" He stuttered, flipping through more pictures. "These are…beautiful." He whispered.

I blushed. "Well…thanks."

"It's like you have…captured people's souls right on the paper." He said, holding a drawing of my parents together closer to his face. "You see people easily." He stated, certain that it was a fact.

"Thank you." I blushed again. After he looked at a few more drawings, Peter stacked them together gently and put them back in the portfolio.

"Well, now what?" He asked. I cringed at the sudden fact that we were running out of things to do.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever you want is fine with me."

He smiled. "Gee. Thanks for the pressure." He thought for a moment. "Well, what haven't you done here yet? You've been to the pier…what about…the ocean? Did you go to a beach yet?" He asked.

I shook my head. "No."

Peter held his hand out to me, and helped me get up from the bench. "What are we waiting for then? Let's go." He laughed.

Since it was still August, the beaches were still crowded with swimmers and tourists. So Peter led me to a different part of the beach, smaller, with tide pools and rocks. We jumped from rock to rock for a while, as Peter explained to me what the Santa Monica school was like, and chattered on about some of the kids whom I would be going to school with. He warned me who to stay away from, and what teachers to beware of. I listened—for the most part. I also spent a good majority of the time looking at his eyes. The sun was still bright, making his eyes shine. There was nothing on Earth that could be more beautiful, I decided.

As he was talking, and I, staring, a strong wind started to blow, causing my portfolio to open, and my drawings to fly everywhere.

"Oh no!" I exclaimed, as we desperately tried to save them. Luckily, none had wandered off into the water. We chased for a few that were still being carried by the wind. Eventually, we had gotten all of my drawings, except for one, which was still drifting in the breeze.

"Come on, let's catch it!" Peter exclaimed as we both started to run with the wind, chasing frantically after the piece of paper. As we dodged rocks and each other, I laughed at the situation. Just the thought of us running after a little piece of paper was hilarious.

"What's so funny?" Asked Peter, who was running faster than me, as I struggled to keep up the pace.

"Look at us!" I exclaimed, out of breath.

He then realized what I was talking about, how ridiculous we both most of looked, and laughed along with me. We finally caught up with the paper as we were laughing. It had now turned more into a game of tag, with me and Peter against the runaway drawing. We laughed harder, making it more difficult to run. Peter's hand finally came in contact with the paper. But, at the last moment, I tripped over my own foot, crashing into him and knocking us both down. I blushed ferociously, so angry at myself, and worried that Peter would be angry with me. I turned my head, and he was laughing! And to make the situation even more peculiar, he held up the now crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

"I…I got it!" He announced between laughs.

I started to laugh too. "Yes…despite…despite my clumsiness…" I held my sides, which now ached from laughing, and flopped down on to the warm sand. I noticed Peter did the same. We were both still laughing, totally delusional.

"That…was…quite…a chase!" Peter laughed, now out of breath himself.

"Tell me about it!" I breathed.

When we had finally stopped laughing, we pulled ourselves together and got up and brushed the sand off our clothes. We talked as we walked down the beach.

"So, you're from New York?" Peter asked.

"Yeah. I lived there my whole life, basically." I told.

"Why'd you guys decide to move to Santa Monica?"

I shrugged. "Well, me and my mom's apartment was way too small for my dad to come live in with us, and my dad was originally from Santa Monica. So we decided to move back here with him." I explained.

"Aren't you going to miss any of your friends in New York?" He asked.

I shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. I never really had any close friends down there, so it's not that big of a deal to me."

"Oh."

We were both silent for a few moments. Finally, Peter sighed.

"Shannon, I'm so curious. I need answers. When I asked you about your parents, you told me you'd tell me later. It's later. Can you tell me?" He asked.

I had known I would have had to eventually tell Peter about Titanic. About my parent's affair. About the great tragedy. About their separation. I knew the story well, but I had never actually told anyone it from my own perspective.

"Well, it's a long story…" I sighed.

Peter smiled. "I've got time."

I sighed again. "Okay." I took a deep breath, hoping I wouldn't have to become too emotional in front of Peter. "My mom… her name used to be Rose DeWitt Bukater. She was from a wealthy family, and engaged to a rich steel tycoon named Caledon Hockley, whom she despised. He mother practically forced her into the engagement. My father was poor. He was a traveling artist, living on the streets of every place imaginable all over The United States and even Europe. He was in France when he decided he wanted to return to Chippewa Falls, his home town. At the same time, my mom was in Europe, but was about to head to America to get married to Cal. Cal, of course, purchased the first class tickets for himself, my mother, and her mother. My Dad won his third class ticket from a lucky hand in pocker. The ship…was…the Titanic."

Peter's eyes went wide. "You mean…the one that sank? They were on it?!" Peter exclaimed, shocked.

I nodded. I then proceeded to tell him the entire story of my parent's affair. From the moment they met, when my mother was trying to commit suicide, and from the moment they first kissed on the bow. I told him about how they had made love in the backseat of a car in the cargo hold, and about the moment the ship struck the iceberg. I described the sinking as best as I could, feeling that he should know what it was really like. I told him how right after the ship had sunk, my dad made my mom promise to go on, and to make everyday count. How my mom had to let his frozen body sink into the water, and blew a whistle to get a lifeboats attention. I then proceeded to describe to him my mother's life afterwards, when she found out she was pregnant, and about our life together in New York. I told him about how I had found a drawing in Mr. Tomkins' art gallery, labeled JD, and how that drawing had brought me to my father. I described his anger towards me at first, and I told him how my parents eventually reunited. It took two hours. The expression on Peter's face stayed there long after I was done, as we walked in silence. I gave him time to absorb the information. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke, in a shocked, whispering tone.

"I…I can't believe it. I just can't." He shook his head back and forth, and I noticed a new, unfamiliar, sad glow in his eyes.

"I know. It was horrible. Sometimes I wonder how my mom made it through all of that, let alone my dad. We thought he was dead for thirteen years!" I exclaimed.

"When…when you found out your dad was…alive…what did you do? What were you feeling?" He asked quickly.

"Well, as I told you, I fainted when I learned he was truly alive. After that, I…I was kind of shocked. My mother was in denial, but I was convinced. It all happened so fast, I hardly had time to think." I explained.

Peter took in all the information. "Well…the story's…truly amazing, Shannon. There's no word to describe it. I mean…it was awful, of course, with the whole sinking and everything…but…it's also so wonderful…your parents meeting, falling in love…being separated…then meeting again. It's almost like a dramatic fairy tail. You read about these things in books, but…you don't ever imagine it would ever happen in real life. And it did. It's unbelievable." He sighed, shaking his head.

"It is." I whispered.

"So…how does it feel to be the daughter of two Titanic survivors?"

I chuckled a little. "I'm…actually…I'm honored. To know that I was created on that ship and everything…it's just…mind boggling, you know?"

He nodded. "It's beyond mind boggling."

I all of a sudden heard my stomach growl. "Well, on a different note, I'm starving. Let's go eat." I suggested, laughing a bit.

Peter laughed too at the sudden change of subject. "Alright. I know a place not to far from here."

We walked to the restaurant, laughing and joking all the way. We seemed to have forgotten the tragedy we had just been discussing about. It was so easy to forget things around Peter, though. I just wondered, and hoped, that maybe…he forgot things in my presence too.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Thanks once again to everyone who reviewed!!!!! You have no idea how much your reviews make me want to write more. So, in case you were wondering, I AM planning a little something between Shannon and Peter…maybe not right away, but eventually. Who knows? It could happen anytime. Please please please keep reviewing! I want to know what you guys think!**

Chapter Twenty Eight

By the time we had finished eating, it was reaching six o'clock. The setting sun reflected a bright orange glow in the sky, and the cool ocean breeze completed the beautiful atmosphere. We were walking down the sidewalk, talking about how much fun we had. Even after just learning about my parent's history together, Peter seemed to not be phased by it. He didn't speak about it once after I told him the story, and yet he still treated me with the same respect and kindness as he had before I told him. He didn't seem to look at me differently, knowing how dramatic my life had been in the past. Though, I wished I knew what he was thinking. Did he look at me in a whole new way? That I didn't know.

"We'll have to do this again sometime. I really enjoyed it." Peter said, interrupting my thoughts.

I nodded. "Yes. We definitely have to." I agreed.

We walked in silence for a moment, and the quietness started to make my thoughts run a little too wild.

"What are you thinking right now?" I unintentionally asked him.

He narrowed his eyes. "What?"

I sighed, wishing I had refrained from asking that question.

"I mean…what's going through your mind right now?"

"Why do you want to know?"

I shrugged. "Just curious."

Peter thought for a moment. "Well…first of all, I'm happy that I got to spend the day with you."

I smiled.

"Second…I…I don't know. I can't explain it. I guess…I kinda have a newfound respect for you, Shannon. For your whole family, even. Just…knowing what you've been through, I mean…it's just so…amazing." He explained.

I now felt ridiculous. I had been worrying all that time that he thought of me differently in a bad way, and now, he was telling me that he respected me even more than he had before. It was so different from what I had assumed.

"Thank you, Peter. That…means a lot to me."

We were silent the rest of the walk back to the Jory's house, but it seemed that words weren't needed. When we finally walked up the front steps, I sighed, realizing I would have to leave Peter now.

"Well…thank you, for everything. I had a lot of fun today." I smiled.

"You're welcome." He said, his voice soft and sincere.

"And you promise we'll do this again sometime?" I asked hopefully.

He smiled and nodded. "Of course. Hey—how about tomorrow after church? Is that alright with you?"

I gasped with excitement. "Oh, that would be wonderful! I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Jory would be fine with it." I grinned.

"Good, then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow after church." He said. With a smile and a nod, he started to walk down the front steps. Just as I was about to open the front door of the Jory's house, Peter turned around.

"Shannon?" He called.

"Yes?" I said, excited that he wasn't leaving just yet.

"Thank you…for telling me about…you know…the ship and everything. I'm glad you feel that you can trust me, and…you can. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

I nodded, touched by his compassion. "Yes, perhaps it would be best…for this to remain between you and I. The Jory's know, but that's about it. Thank you, Peter." I smiled, loving the feeling of his name come out of my mouth.

"Goodbye." Peter sighed, and with a smile and a wave, I watched him walk down the sidewalk and disappear around the corner.

That night at dinner, Mrs. Jory asked if I was feeling alright. She said that she noticed I was extremely quiet, and was hardly touching my food. I simply smiled and assured her that I was fine, just tired. Deep inside, I knew the real reason for my strange behavior was the anxiousness to see Peter the next day.

The next day, Peter found me right after church, and with Mrs. Jory's permission, we went back to our spot on the beach. We were careful not to run around too much this time since we were in our church clothes. We talked for most of the time. Though, I couldn't help but be distracted by Peter's eyes. We didn't talk about Titanic, or anything related to that subject. I asked him a lot about his own family, his friends at school, and he smiled as he spoke of each one. The conversation led to many different topics, such as outrageous things we did as children, and things we'd like to do for the future. I wasn't surprised to learn that Peter wanted to do something that involved running in the future. He didn't seem surprised when I mentioned I wanted to own my own gallery and someday be as good as an artist as my father. He had protested against the fact that I thought I wasn't good enough, insisting that I was an amazing artist. I just smiled and humored him. Peter then started to ask me questions, like who I was friends with in New York, and the names of my teachers of the past. He even asked if I had ever had a boyfriend. I blushed as I told him I hadn't. I could tell he was surprised at my lack of romantic history, but I could tell he was desperately trying to hide it. When I asked him if he had ever been seeing anyone, he nonchalantly shrugged and shook his head. We spent the day walking on the beach. At one point, we took our shoes off and waded in the cool ocean water. Peter taught me how to skip rocks, and I forced myself not to be distracted by his arm around my shoulders, his hand connected to mine, or his breath tickling my face. I didn't realize how fast the day had gone by until Peter looked at his watch and told me it was five thirty. I was supposed to be back at six o'clock. When we got to the Jory's house, once again, I thanked him for the great day, and we said our goodbyes. It seemed like a very routine thing, even though this was only the second time we had spent the day together. Only, something felt different this time. I felt as if our eyes were connecting more. I couldn't find words to explain it. When he left, I whisked myself inside the house, and closing the front door firmly, I leaned against it and sighed. Why could I just come up with _one _adjective to describe the way I was feeling?

Dinner was very much like the night before. I was quiet, and hardly ate. Only this time, Mrs. Jory didn't ask if I felt ill.

That night, as I lay down in bed, I brought my thoughts to a conclusion. Although I couldn't come up with a proper word to defy my emotions, there was one thing I was absolutely sure of.

I was undeniably in love with Peter.


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Twenty Nine

One day later…

"Mom!" I exclaimed as I ran towards her, throwing my arms around her shoulders as I walked into the house. "It's so good to see you!"

She laughed. "Oh, I missed you, Shanny!" She hugged me tighter.

I had just returned home from the Jory's house, after the long three days of being away. I was glad I was able to give my parents some time alone, but I had missed them and was glad to be back.

My dad walked over, and wrapped his arms around both me and my mother. "I'm so glad you're home, Shannon. We both missed you like crazy!" He exclaimed.

"I missed you both too."

My dad broke out of the hug, and gestured for the three of us to sit on the couch. I looked around the room for a moment. It really did look like a home now. Mom and Dad must have gone shopping for new furniture and things for our house, because it looked complete now.

"Wow, you guys did a great job on the house!" I said.

"Thank you. Your father and I worked on this while you were away. You probably never knew how much of a handyman your father is. He can fix anything! And this house certainly did need a lot of fixing up. We had a good time doing it together, though." My mom explained.

"So is that all you two did these past three days? Set up the house?" I asked.

"No, your father also took me out to dinner every night, and we spent a lot of time sightseeing around the town." She told me.

"What did you do while you were away?" Dad asked me.

"Well, I actually spent most of my time with the boy from your wedding, Peter Langer. He's very nice. He showed me around town, and we spent a lot of time at the beach." I told them, smiling at the memories.

"Well that's good. We're glad you made a new friend. Peter did seem like a nice boy." Mom said, hugging me.

That night, mom and I made spaghetti for dinner. I told her about the two days I had spent with Peter in more detail, but I didn't mention the little part about accidentally falling in love with him. I realized that the more I talked about him, the more I wanted to see him. The more I wanted to see his gleaming brown eyes and feel the warmth of his hand on mine, even for just a second. I chuckled silently to myself, thinking of how silly I sounded.

My family and I enjoyed a great dinner, and talked and laughed late into the night. Around ten o'clock, I found myself to be getting very tired. I hugged my parents, telling them both goodnight. They seemed to both have mischievous grins on their faces, but I was too tired to question them. I picked up my suitcase that was sitting on the floor next to the front door, where I had left it when I first came home. As I dragged my heavy-feeling feet up the stairs, my heart filled with dread. Since we had just moved into the house, none of the rooms had really been finished, except the ones my parents had worked on while I was gone. So my room, which was fairly large and had a nice view, was empty. My clothes were all in a trunk, and instead of a bed, I simply had a mattress on the floor with a pillow and blanket. Sighing, I opened the door to my room that was at the end of the hallway. I gasped when I entered.

To my astonishment, the room had been transformed. The walls were light blue, with a real bed with a lavender comforter. There was a dresser, a vanity, and a closet. On the walls were beautiful pictures of beaches, ocean views, and what looked to be the Santa Monica Pier, all labeled 'JD'. I was speechless as I walked further into the room, and didn't notice I had dropped my suitcase onto the ground. I didn't even hear mom and dad walk into the room.

"Well? Do you like it?" My mom asked, startling me.

"Mom…Dad…how did you…" I stammered, at a loss for words.

"We made it another one of our projects while you were away. We wanted to do something special for you. You're the reason we're together, you know." My dad grinned.

I noticed something wet roll down my cheek, and I realized it was a tear.

"This room…it's amazing…" I said, still stunned.

"We're glad you like it." My mom said as she hugged me.

When I finally crawled underneath the covers of my new bed, I realized how tired I really was. The day had been long, but wonderful. Just as I was about to drift off, my door opened, and my mom stepped in.

"Just coming in to tell you goodnight." She whispered in the darkness.

"Goodnight, mom. Thanks for everything." I whispered.

"Oh, you're welcome. Hey…um, do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?" She asked, walking over and sitting on my bed.

"Uh oh. Am I in trouble?" I joked.

Mom laughed. "No. I…I just want to know about this Peter…he seemed like a very nice boy at the party. How close exactly have you two become?" She asked.

I blushed. "Mom!"

She chuckled. "What? A mother _has_ to know these things!"

I shook my head, blushing some more. "I mean…he's nice mom, and we're friends…" I stammered.

"Are you sure it's just friendship? You smile, and your eyes grow wide whenever you speak about him. And you're blushing. Just friendship, huh." She said, trying to sound serious.

I sighed. "Well…I mean…you and dad only knew each other for three days…" I stuttered. "Is it really that wrong?"

I knew by the look on my mom's face that she knew that I had just told her I was in love with Peter. She smiled, and hugged me.

"No. It's not wrong at all, Shannon. I think it's wonderful thing…to be in love for the first time. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."

I shrugged. "Well, I haven't had much experience. But…everything's kind of fallen into place…I mean…with meeting him at the wedding…then spending the day with him…I mean…if…it's really meant to be…perhaps it will just fall in to place too."

Mom smiled. "If it's meant to be, I'm sure it will." She sighed. "Heaven knows how many times I told myself that your father and I weren't meant to be. But what do you know? After battling a rotten fiancé, a sinking ship…and thirteen years apart…look at us. We're together. Now, I certainly don't want you two to have to go through a sinking ship or anything, but…Peter didn't take his eyes off of you once at the wedding reception—"

"_Goodnight mom_!" I exclaimed, wanting to end this conversation.

She laughed. "Goodnight, Shanny. Sleep well."


	31. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

I sighed as I stepped outside the front door, feeling the warm Santa Monica sun on my face. I knew I would never get tired of it. Santa Monica was so alive, so open. I walked down the porch steps, with the slip of paper with my dad's work address in my hand. I knew how to get there, but this was my first time walking there from my house, and I wanted to make sure I could get there by myself without getting lost. I also wanted to visit my dad, of course. I walked down the sidewalk, looking at each house that I passed. Each one had their own unique style, but the same similar beach house appearance. It was about five o'clock, and the sun still shone brightly in the sky. I had spent the day at home alone all day. Mom had found a job working at a department store. I knew it wasn't the kind of work she loved. She had told me once that she would love to become an actress, though it was far from possible since she had been a single mother with a child. Now, since things had changed so drastically, perhaps she could fulfill her dream.

I continued to walk, trying my hardest to memorize every street corner and road I walked on, so I wouldn't forget in the future. Half an hour later, I arrived to the "downtown" part of Santa Monica, where most of the shops and businesses were located. My father's work, Scott Jory's art Supplies and Galleries, was towards the end of the street. I peered in the windows of the small shops as I passed them, all of them filled with mannequins dressed in the latest fashion, or seashell-covered souvenirs. I smiled when I finally reached the art store. The last time I had been here was when I came to officially declare myself as my father's daughter, which now seemed like so long ago. I swung open the front door and stepped inside, to see Mr. Jory sitting at the front desk. He stood up as he saw me.

"Welcome to Scott Jory's. How may I help you?" He said in a sarcastic tone, as if I was a customer.

I giggled. "Yes. I was wondering, does a man named Jack Dawson work here?" I said, repeating the same lines I first spoke to Mr. Jory when I first walked into the art store.

"Uh…Jack Dawson…nope. Never heard of him." Mr. Jory teased.

I turned around. "Well, thanks anyway. I guess I'll just take my business elsewhere." I said, pretending to walk out of the store.

Mr. Jory started to laugh, and I laughed along with him. Just then, my father entered the room through the hallway, with a clipboard in his hand.

"I thought I recognized that laugh…" He smiled, as he came up to hug me. "How are you, angel?"

"I'm fine. I hope I'm not interrupting, I know how busy it can be around here." I remarked.

Dad shook his head. "You kidding? We've had all of about three customers in here all day. We're glad you came. Oh, Shannon. Follow me, I have to introduce you to someone," My dad said, as gestured for me to follow him down the hallway, where the employee offices were. He led me into one of the rooms, where a man in his mid twenties was sitting in a desk, filling out some paperwork.

"Jonathon? I'd like you to meet my daughter, Shannon. Shannon, this is the new fellow we hired a while back. I'm sure you remember Scott mentioning him."

I nodded. "Nice to meet you, Jonathon."

He simply nodded, and stared back at his paperwork. He seemed to be really shy. He didn't even acknowledge my dad or Mr. Jory.

I stuck around the store for about an hour, and then decided I would walk home before it got to dark. The sun was just starting to set, and dad couldn't leave until seven o'clock.

"Thanks for stopping by, angel. Are you sure you don't want to stay? I could leave a little earlier to walk you home if you want." My dad suggested.

"No, it's alright. Besides, I want to have dinner on the table by the time you and mom get home from work." I told him

"You don't have to--"

"No, really. It's fine. I'll see you later."

He kissed my forehead. "See you, angel."

I walked out of the store, and started down the sidewalk. I thought about the new employee, Jonathon. He was so strange; he kept himself locked up in his little office the whole time I was there. My dad and Mr. Jory never really mentioned his name, so I wasn't sure if they liked him or not. I guess I would just have to ask my dad when he got home.

My mind scattered over a million things as I walked. I debated over what to make for dinner, and if I should walk to the grocery store to get the ingredients. After deciding to make spaghetti—me and my father's favorite meal, I knew I would have to pick some items up at the grocery store. I walked until I came to a corner, with two possible ways to turn. I honestly had no idea which way the grocery store was, but I took my chances and turned left, since I noticed there were more shops that way. As I walked, I noticed there were less and less people, and the shops and apartments looked more like some of the rundown, old homes in the bad parts of New York. I shuddered a little, realizing I was lost. I had completely forgotten which way I had came, and which direction I should go to leave. I must have looked strange, practically turning in circles trying to figure out which way I should go. Gulping, I proceeded down the sidewalk, trying to find the light in the dark tunnel. I was going the wrong way; that I was sure of. But I was too afraid to turn back, since I didn't know if that way would be the right way either. I only wanted to get out of this part of town, as fast as I could. I walked for about twenty minutes. At this point, there were no shops in sight, just run down apartments and vacant storerooms. There were hardly any people, but the only people I saw wore tattered clothing, only making this experience creepier. It had been at least forty five minutes, and I realized if I wasn't home in fifteen minutes my dad would be worried about me. Though, fifteen minutes didn't seem like a possibility right now. The sun had set, and it was dark. It was colder, too. I was completely lost, cold, and alone. By now there was nobody around. I was alone in what looked to be a vacant town. I started to breathe heavily, and walked faster down the sidewalk. I passed dark alleyways, forcing myself not to look down them. I walked for what seemed like hours. I was so lost.

In the distance, I swore I heard laughing. I could tell there were several people out there, somewhere in the darkness. Stupidly, I continued to walk, and the laughing became closer. I had the instinct to turn around, and run the opposite direction. As I did so, I tripped on a piece of concrete that had chipped off the sidewalk, and crashed to the ground.

"Awww, did the little lady fall?" I heard a man's voice, which appeared to be near."

I gasped. I wasn't alone after all.

I got up as quickly as I could, and power walked down the sidewalk, not turning around to see who had called after me.

"Little lady!" The voice called again. After a while, I heard more than one voice. There were several of them. And they didn't fade, they only drew nearer. They were following me.

"Little lady! Come here and talk to us!" One of the laughing men's voices called after me.

I quickened my pace. I thought about running, but I didn't want to encourage them to chase after me. I thought about staying where I was, and defending myself when they eventually came over to me, but then I realized I would be no match to a bunch of men. So I continued to walk as fast as I could.

"Come on, little girl. We just want to say hello." The voices were so near. They were right behind me. A few of them ran up in front of me, and the rest formed a circle in front, completely surrounding me. I thought about screaming, but I couldn't find my voice. I couldn't run, not past them.

"Why did you ignore us, pretty little girl? We were just trying to be friendly," One of them snickered.

"L…leave me alone." I spat out.

"Aw…don't be afraid, little girl. How 'bout you come with us. We got something to show you." One said, obviously smiling.

"No. Let me by." I knew my pleading would get me nowhere.

Out of nowhere, I felt a cold hand on my cheek. "Don't worry, little girl. Come with us."

I felt the adrenaline flow throughout my body. "No!" I said, and with that, I kicked him hard below the waist, and watched him double over in pain. The others laughed, and I flew past them the first chance I got. I couldn't hear if they were following me, but I didn't care. I didn't know where I was going, just away from there. That was all. I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I flew past apartments, and eventually, came to a crossroad. Not bothering to turn my head, I ran across the street and to the left, silently praying that this would somehow take me back to the main shops in the town, anywhere out of this neighborhood. I ran for what seemed like miles, and what seemed like hours. I didn't stop, and I didn't slow down once. I didn't turn around to see if the men were still behind me, I just ran. It was dark, and I couldn't tell where I was. I needed to take cover, somewhere. I thought of the possible places I could get to. I ran farther down the street, still not having a clue where I was. I wasn't even sure if I was still in that neighborhood. Taking a brief moment to look at the street sign, I realized it was Elm Street. Elm Street. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Elm Street! That was Peter's street! I had no idea which house was his, but I struggled to recall the address he had given me the previous day. I still ran as fast as I could as I thought, and finally remembered the address—at least I think I did. I didn't care. I would knock on every door until I found someone I knew. I ran down the sidewalk, and scanned the address numbers on each one, until I came to 2043, which I was pretty sure, was Peter's house. Not hesitating for a moment, I ran up the front steps and pounded on the door. I didn't know who it was who answered the door, but whoever it was must have had a confused look on their face when I collapsed into their arms. I didn't cry. I couldn't breathe, and I could hardly hear whoever it was asking me if I was alright. I heard faint voices in the background, but they were muffled. I wanted to stand up on my own and explian what happened without breaking down, but that would be impossible. Because when I tried to look at the person's face, everything just went black.


	32. Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty One

I didn't know how long I had been asleep. It could have been days, or just minutes. I didn't know where I was, in my state of unconsciousness. I could hear faint voices in the background, one I recognized to be my mother's. I wanted to reach out to her, to tell her I was alright. But I couldn't. I tossed and turned, but with no avail. I tried to calm myself, and focus on waking up. I relaxed my body. I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes. I realized I was lying on a couch.

Standing around me was my mother, my father, and Mrs. Langer. My mother let out a breath of relief, and my father put his hand over his face. I looked around. Why was everyone so concerned? Why was I at the Langer's house? I tried to talk, but I couldn't find my voice.

"Shanny, it's alright. You're safe." My mother whispered, stroking my hair.

"You had us worried, Shannon." Mrs. Langer sighed.

"Wha…what happened?" I asked, my voice hardly a whisper.

"We don't know. You banged on our door, and then fainted in my husband's arms. Scared us half to death." Mrs. Langer explained.

"What happened, angel? You weren't home when I got home from work, and Mrs. Langer called me an hour later telling me you were here, and unconscious." My dad told me.

Then it all came back to me. Getting lost in that mysterious town. The men who followed me. Sprinting to the Langer's house.

"What time is it?" I asked groggily.

"About two A.M." My dad said.

Two A.M? Had I really been out that long?

"What happened? Where did you go after you left Jack's work?" My mother begged me to tell her.

"I thought I was going the right way. I got distracted." I said in such a weak voice that surprised me.

"Did you get lost?"

I nodded. "I was in a different part of town. It was empty…and the men were following me…I couldn't get away…" I struggled to explain.

"What men, Shannon? What are you talking about?" My mother asked, knitting her eyebrows.

"A gang. I was lost…walking alone…and a gang started following me. They…circled around me…one touched my face…I kicked him under his waist and ran away. I came to Peter's house…I didn't know where else to go." My voice got weaker with each sentence.

"You did the right thing, coming here. We were so worried about you, Shannon." Mrs. Langer remarked.

Then I remembered. Peter. "Is Peter here?" I asked. There was no one else I wanted to see more right now than him.

"Oh honey, he was so worried about you. He was at your side every minute you were asleep. We finally convinced him to get some rest about an hour ago. He was so tired." My mom explained.

I smiled slightly. Peter had been worried about me. He had watched me sleep, feeling concerned for me.

"Why don't you get some sleep. It sounds like you've had quite a night." My dad suggested, stroking my hair.

I nodded, too exhausted to say anything else. I quickly drifted off to sleep.

I woke up from my dream that morning, still feeling exhausted as I had been the night before. I was still lying on the same couch. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and had a double take at the vision before me. No, I had to still be asleep, dreaming as I had been previously. There before me, was Peter, who was sitting on the edge of the couch with the upmost concern in his eyes. I was sure I was dreaming.

"Good morning, Shannon." He whispered.

"Peter…" I croaked, my voice sounding even hoarser than before.

"Shh. Try not to speak. Rest." He whispered, gently running his hand down my arm. I felt my skin tingle over where he had touched.

I shook my head. "I'm awake." I said, but my voice was so weak it was almost incoherent.

"You had us worried, Shannon." He began, his voice still a soft whisper.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry about. What happened?" He asked with concern in his voice.

"I…got lost…walking home from my dad's work. I was in…some weird part…of town…and it got dark…and I was being followed by a gang. They…they tried to…get me to come with them...but I got away." I explained.

Peter sighed. "Oh, Shannon. That's horrible. And you ran all the way here?"

I nodded.

"That explains why you were so exhausted." He pointed out.

I couldn't help but notice the dark circles underneath his beautiful, tired looking eyes.

"You haven't gotten much sleep," I stated.

Peter shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I couldn't sleep, anyway. I was too worried about you." He remarked.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to cause so much trouble."

Peter shook his head. "No, Shannon. Don't. Do you realize how _lucky_ you were? Those guys could have…well…don't be sorry." He grumbled. I noticed the hint of irritation in his normally soothing voice.

There was a long moment of silence between the two of us. I noticed it was slightly dark outside, so it must have been early in the morning. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was six thirty. I looked back at Peter, who was now gazing directly into my eyes.

"…Shannon?" He began, seeming to hesitate. "How _did_ you get away from those guys?"

I shrugged. "I kicked one of them below the waist." I remarked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Peter struggled to suppress a laugh. "You…did? Hard?"

I smiled. "As hard as I could." My voice was still hoarse.

"_Wow_." He seemed surprised. I was glad the irritation he had towards me—or perhaps the situation---was forgotten.

"Your mother told me how tired you were. There was really no need to be that worried about me." I told him, remember how she had told me.

He turned away. "Well…I…I was just…a little nervous. I didn't really know what was going on." He admitted.

"I'll be alright." I promised.

"You will. Because I'm _not_ going to let you get lost again. From now on, I'll show you around." He said sternly, as if he were my mother or something. Though secretly, I kind of enjoyed the fact that he had become so protective of me.

"Okay." I said groggily, smiling.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Peter suggested. "You look tired."

"You look pretty tired yourself." I pointed out.

"Well, then let's make a deal. I'll go over there on that chair and get some rest," he began, pointing to a recliner chair in the corner of the living room we were in. "And you try to get some more sleep, too."

I nodded. "Alright. That sounds fair."

"Alright then." He got up from his seat on the edge of the couch next to me, and walked over to the recliner. Sitting down on it comfortably, he smiled.

"Sleep well, Shannon." Peter whispered from the opposite side of the room.

"You too." I mumbled, the tiredness taking me over once again. I started to doze, but was interrupted by the sound of Peter's voice. Not that I minded.

"Shannon?" He whispered from his chair.

"Yes Peter?"

"Did you really kick him hard?"

I smiled. "You bet I did."


	33. Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Two

Later that morning, Mr. Langer drove my parents and I home. I was still exhausted, so my dad carried me out. Peter had been sound asleep on the recliner. I spent the rest of the day in bed. I wasn't sure why, though. I wasn't sick, and I wasn't injured. My parents decided it was just anxiety. They were probably right.

The following day, I was back to normal. I wasn't tired anymore, and I was absolutely sick of sitting in bed all day. I took my art supplies, and sat outside on the porch, and started to sketch the scenery in front of me. Santa Monica was so easy to draw. The places and people all had their own story, their own beginning. I strived to show their stories in my drawings the way my father did.

My parents were at work. I felt bad that they had to take the day off yesterday, to take care of me. I hated to be the cause of so much trouble.

The sun was scotching hot that day, it was nearing the end of July, and the sun still shone brightly in the sky. I put my drawing down on the chair I was sitting on, and went inside to get a glass of water. A few minutes later, I walked back out onto the porch. I almost dropped my glass of water right then and there. Sitting on the chair, looking at my half finished drawing, was Peter. Him being so close to me made me go weak in the knees.

"Peter?" I asked, still in shock that he was here.

He looked up from my drawing. "Hi Shannon. You don't mind company, do you?" He asked, smiling and getting up from the chair.

I shook my head. "Of course not."

Peter stepped closer to me. I was slowly but surly being dazzled and I begged myself to focus in order to not make a fool of myself.

"The drawing's great." He remarked.

"Um…thanks."

"How are you feeling?" He asked, concern gleaming in his beautiful eyes once again.

I shrugged. "I'm fine. I don't really know what was wrong with me before." I told him.

"You were scared out of your mind, that was what was wrong. And you had every right to be. Not to mention that Heaven only knows how far you ran." He declared.

"Well…um…yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm alright now."

He nodded. "Good."

There was a long silent pause between the two of us, and then Peter finally spoke.

"Well…how is your drawing coming along? I think it' really great."

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Can I watch?

I knitted my eyebrows. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Can I watch you finish your drawing?"

"Are you serious? It's really boring you know." I warned him.

"Of course it's not. Let me watch you." He insisted.

"_Why_?" I asked, still confused why he would want to waste time watching me draw.

"Because I want to see how you do it. How you capture a person's soul."

I smiled a little. "Okay then…alright. Over here." I sat back down on my chair and picked up the paper and colored pencil I had been using before. Peter pulled up a chair next to me, and leaned his head in closer to mine. I took a deep breath, enjoying the closeness. I started to draw the scene in front of my house, my pencil strokes taking over my senses. Peter was so quiet I hardly heard him breathe. I looked up at him every once in a while to see his eyes fixed on the paper. After about an hour, I assumed that in any second, Peter would get up and make an excuse to leave because he was so bored. But he never did. He sat there silent the whole time, seeming to be fascinated with each stroke.

After a little while longer, I was almost done. I turned my head to look at him, and got a surprise this time. He wasn't looking at my drawing. He was looking at me, staring directly into my eyes. I normally would have blushed and looked away, but something this time told me not to. I stared into his deep, brown eyes, and immediately forgot that the world existed. We sat like that for minutes, or seconds, or hours. I felt as if my heart would pound out of my chest, if such a thing were possible. Almost unexpectedly, Peter reached out and briefly intertwined his fingers with a lock of my hair, and then tucked it behind my ear. His hand gently brushed against my cheek, and then he set it down in his lap instantly.

"I…I'm sorry." He whispered, still staring into my eyes.

"D…Don't be." I whispered back, struggling to find my voice.

"I…I have to…um…go." And with that, he quickly flew down the porch and sped walked down the sidewalk, and disappeared around the corner. I gasped. Had that really just happened? I put my hand on my cheek, in the exact spot where he had touched it. Did he have the same feelings for me that I desperately had for him? Why had he left so abruptly? Did he regret it? Or did he think I was offended? Of course I wasn't. I was too shocked to think anything else. I picked up my art supplies almost in slow motion, and went inside, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it. Sighing, I went up to my room and put my supplies away. My mind was tangled with the images from before; the most vivid were Peter's eyes.

I had just finished making dinner when my parents got home from work. I was still in a trance from earlier, but I dared not to let my mom know about it. I tried my best to act normal. After dinner, my mom read and my dad drew in the living room, and I tried to finish the drawing I had been working on earlier. Though it didn't feel the same without Peter, for some reason. When I realized there was no way on earth I was going to be able to concentrate on the drawing, I kissed my parents goodnight and crawled into bed. I must have been lying in bed for hours, because eventually I heard my parents close their bedroom door. I couldn't sleep. I was too preoccupied with the events that had taken place with Peter. He had dazzled me far too much for me to sleep. I closed my eyes, and begged myself to try and get some sleep. I almost came close to drifting off to sleep, but was startled when something hit my window. Sitting up, I heard it again. And again. It was nearly the middle of the night, what could that noise be? Quietly getting out of bed, I slipped my robe on over my nightgown and walked over to the window. Looking out, I saw nothing in the darkness. But then I heard the noise again, a slight tap on the window. Cautiously, I opened the window, and stuck my head out.

"_Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair_!" Whispered a voice in the darkness, which I recognized almost instantly.

"_Peter_?!" I whispered, almost a bit too loudly. "What in the world are you doing here?" I squinted my eyes in attempt to see him in the darkness, and sure enough, there he was, standing right below my window. He was in his pajamas, and he was holding an arm out, as if to bring me down.

"Come down, Shannon. Climb down the trellis!" He whispered eagerly.

"Are you _crazy_?" I gasped.

"Yes. Now come on. Don't worry; I'll catch you if you fall." He promised.

I highly doubted he would catch me, but nevertheless I ran into the hallway, poked my head out to make sure my parents were asleep, and ran back to the window. I climbed out, and closed it most of the way, but left it partly open so I could get back in. Now the trellis. I hadn't even known my parents had put a trellis on the house. Through the darkness, I felt around with my feet until I was on the trellis. I climbed down easily, as if it was a ladder. When I landed on the ground, Peter took my hand in his and started to run across the lawn.

"Peter, where are we going?" I asked, startled.

He smiled. "Don't talk. Just run."

So I followed him in the darkness, as he pulled me every which way, and finally, I felt cold sand beneath my bare feet. The beach? Peter stopped running, but didn't let go of my hand. He led me to a picnic table, and we sat on top of it. In the distance, I heard the waves crashing to the shore, and I could smell the seas salt.

"_Peter_…" I giggled. I could hardly believe what we were doing. Sneaking out? That was definitely not on my agenda. But I was with Peter. I felt as if I could do anything with him, no matter how crazy. And for some reason, tonight, Peter wanted to be alone with me.

"Shannon…I'm sorry…but I couldn't wait until tomorrow to tell you. I just couldn't!" He exclaimed, with a huge smile on his face.

"Tell me what?" I asked, not able to contain my own smile.

"I…should have told you before. I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to just run off on you like I did earlier today. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry. I also want you to know that I really should have told you this a while ago, maybe when we were dancing at your parent's wedding. I'm sorry I didn't."

I sighed, and pretended to be frustrated. "Will you_ stop_ apologizing and just tell me?!"

He took a deep breath. "Shannon…" He whispered. "I'm in love with you."

There was a long pause between us. But it wasn't awkward this time. I was just struggling to find my voice, once again.

"Peter…" I breathed.

"I know I should have told you sooner…"

"No. This is perfect." I told the truth. I couldn't have imagined a better place for this. "I…love you, too. Perhaps a little too much--"

Peter silenced me by gently putting his finger to my lips. Slowly, he slid his hand to my cheek, and the other one around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He leaned in, closer and closer to my face. This was it. I closed my eyes, and felt his lips press against mine.


	34. Chapter Thirty Three

**Ok I know I haven't updated in like a billion years. Sorry!!! I've been really busy lately, and I'm starting another fic. If you're a Twilight fan, you should definitely read it. It only has three chapters, but I'm going to start on a fourth right after this. It's called Forever and Beyond. Please read it, and review! I only have like…three :(. Oh, and also, keep reviewing for My Father Jack!! I promise I will start updating faster! Thanks!**

Chapter Thirty Three

We returned to my house, breathing heavily from running all the way. I smiled at Peter, and pressed my lips to his one last time before I left him. He gave me a boost back up the trellis, and I climbed back through my window. I giggled quietly, hardly believing what I had just done. It was insane, yet so wonderful.

"Goodnight, Shannon." Peter whispered from down below.

"'Night Peter. Don't get lost on your way home!" I whispered back, and we both started to laugh.

"I'll try not to. I'd hate to end up in a _slum_!" He chuckled quietly.

"No, we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?" I laughed.

"Bye, Shannon. I'll see you tomorrow, I promise." Peter whispered.

"Goodbye, Peter." I whispered back into the night. I waited a moment, as if to hear Peter whisper something back. But he never did. He had silently run off into the darkness. Sighing, I closed my window, and got back into bed. It would now be a whole lot easier to sleep, that I was sure of. I eventually drifted off into a dreamless sleep. It was odd, because I usually did dream when I slept. But why should I dream while I sleep if I'm already living my dreams while I'm awake?

The next morning, I woke up later than usual. I felt strange, and very anxious. I kicked the covers off, and tried to comprehend what I was feeling. I walked down the stairs, confused about why I felt so different. I almost fell down the steps when last night's events came back to me. Had I really snuck out? _With Peter_? Had he really kissed me? Or had I dreamt the whole thing? I didn't feel myself as I walked into the kitchen. In fact, I felt less than human. This was fine with me, of course.

My mom and Dad were sitting at the table, still in their robes, eating breakfast. My mom smiled when she noticed me.

"Shanny, we thought you'd _never_ wake up!"

I smiled and shrugged. "I guess I was more tired than I thought."

My Dad gestured to the empty seat. "Come on, angel. Sit down; I'll get you some pancakes."

I got dressed in a daze, and then walked back downstairs to help my mom with the dishes. I dried plates with the dishtowel, although I wasn't focusing on what I was actually doing. I was so caught up in my thoughts. I could hardly believe last night had happened. It was strange, because before, I did have a feeling that Peter felt the same was as I did about him. But I had never anticipated last night. Maybe I was just desperate. Maybe I had dreamt it. If I had, and by chance I was still dreaming, I wouldn't mind sleeping forever.

Around noon, out of complete boredom, I brought my sketchpad and pencil out to the front porch, and attempted to draw the spot where Peter and I had kissed the night before. I drew everything out of memory—the white sand, the navy blue sky, the bright stars, and the picnic table which we had sat on. The only thing missing was the two of us. My parents would flip if I added that to the picture and they saw it. I was about halfway finished when my dad sneaked behind me, leaning in closer to see my drawing more clearly.

"Watcha drawing?" He retorted loudly, right in my ear.

I jumped, accidently scribbling a random jagged line on the paper.

"_Dad_!" I breathed.

He chuckled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

I sighed, erasing my mistake. "Don't _ever_ do that again," I scolded, but after turning around to see the boyish grin on my dad's face, I couldn't help but smile too. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

Dad leaned in closer, looking at my drawing. "This is really something, angel. Looks like that beach on Myrtle Street."

I swallowed, realizing that was the exact beach Peter had taken me. "Yeah, that's the one."

Dad nodded, still closely examining the picture. "I don't know what to say, hon. You've really got something there. Trust me, I ought to know."

I smiled. "Show-off."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm on my way over to Scott's. We've got to go over the paperwork for the meeting we have tomorrow."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Shannon, I forgot to ask…" He started, his eyebrows furrowing.

"What?"

"Last night, I heard some weird noises coming from your room. I was going to get up to see what was wrong, but then they stopped."

I swallowed. "_Oh_, well…yeah. I guess I was just moving around a lot in my sleep."

Dad considered it for a moment, and then shrugged. "Perhaps. That bed does squeak a lot." He paused. "Well…I'll see you later."

"Bye," I said, a bit melancholy.

Once my dad walked around the corner and I couldn't see him any longer, I took a deep breath of relief. I was going to have to be more careful, I thought, if I was going to sneak out again.

I finished my drawing, and then put it back into my portfolio, excited to show it to Peter eventually.

I spent the rest of the morning helping my mom fold and put away clean clothes before she had to go to her job at the department store. It wasn't the ideal way to spend a summer day, but I was making a plan in my head to call Peter once Mom left for work. My mind was traveling all over the place, and it was hard for me not to think about last night. My mom would interrupt my thoughts every once in a while and talk about the upcoming school year, and having to go school-shopping one of these days. It helped distract me, but for only a brief moment of time.

Finally—_finally_—Mom went to work. I waited until I saw her disappear down the street until I rushed towards the telephone, and told the Operator to connect me to the Langer's house. It rang three times before somebody picked up the phone. It was Mr. Langer.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Langer. I was wondering if I could speak to Peter." I said, trying to keep my voice even.

"Oh, well, actually—here he is right now."

I heard a brief muffling on the other line, and then a wonderful, velvety voice.

"Shannon?" Peter asked—sounding a bit anxious.

"Hi Peter."

I could practically hear him smile. "Hello, Shannon. How are you?"

I smiled. "I'm going a little crazy. Can I see you sometime today?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I am, too. Where do you want to go?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, I don't know. You decide."

Peter groaned, and then chuckled. "Putting all the pressure on me _again_."

I laughed. "Yep."

"Well…" He paused. "You've only been to my place once. Although--it doesn't really count. You were asleep for most of the time."

"Alright. I'll walk to your house." That sounded like a good idea.

"Oh no, you won't. I will not risk you winding up in the middle of nowhere again. I'll walk over to your house, and we'll walk to my house together." He remarked a bit sternly.

"Oh, but Peter—I don't want you to have to walk all this way--"

He chuckled. "I'll be there at one." And then there was a click.

I left a note on the table telling my dad I would be home in time to start dinner. At exactly one o'clock, Peter knocked on the front door. I checked my hair quickly in the mirror before opening it. When I did, I almost went weak in the knees. Peter was standing there, completely astonishing me. He looked perfect—as usual. But something was different. His eyes were brighter.

"Hello, Shannon," Peter greeted me, taking my hand into his own.

I smiled, not feeling the usual shyness as I normally felt while I was around him. "Hi."

We walked down the porch steps, and stepped out into the Santa Monica sunlight. Peter still held my hand.

"It is very kind of you to walk me all this way," I told him.

He chuckled. "It was my pleasure. It's not your fault that you have absolutely no sense of direction."

I put my hand over my chest, pretending to be offended. "What an _awful_ thing to say!"

He laughed. "Well, it's true!"

I thought for a moment, and then laughed with him. "I guess you're right."

We successfully made it to Peter's house in about twenty minutes. He opened his front door for me, and led me inside, still holding my hand. He brought me down to the kitchen, where his mother was making a cake.

"Hi Mom."

Mrs. Langer turned around, not seeming to mind that we were holding hands. "Hello, you two! Shannon, it's great to see you again." She paused. "I would hug you, but…" She gestured to the cake frosting covering her hands.

I laughed. "That's alright. It's nice to see you to, Mrs. Langer."

"Why are you making a cake?" Peter asked her.

"Well, I was thinking we could have it for desert tonight. Shannon, would you like to join us for dinner?" She asked.

"I would love to, but I have to make sure it's alright with my parent's." I told her.

"In that case, why don't you call them once they get home from work?" She suggested.

"Alright, I will"

Peter turned to look at me. "Come on, let's go into my room."

Peter led me back down the hallway, which I noticed was decorated very much like my family's; lightly colored walls, airy rooms with large windows with the sun shining in. We walked up the stairs, still hand-in-hand. He opened the door to his bedroom, and the first thing I was struck by was more than a dozen trophies on the shelf over the bed. Big, first and second place trophies with little, plastic figures of runners on the tops of them. I let go of his hand, and walked closer to the shelf, staring at them in astonishment.

I felt Peter's hands on my shoulders.

"_You weren't kidding_ when you said you were a runner," I remarked, still in awe.

I felt him shrug. "I guess."

"Were you on the track team at school?"

"Yeah." He seemed like he didn't feel like bragging, although I wouldn't have minded if he wanted to tell me anymore.

"That's…pretty amazing, Peter." I said.

He turned me around so I was facing him. He leaned his face in closer to mine. "Do you know what's even _more_ amazing?" He whispered, and I could feel his warm breath on my face.

I didn't answer.

He smiled. "_You_." He whispered. He leaned in to press his lips against mine for the second time. I suddenly forgot where I was. I pulled myself closer to him, intensifying the kiss. Eventually, probably out of fear that his mother would walk in on us, Peter pulled away, but kept his arms around my waist.

"That can't be true." I objected as I struggled to remember my own name.

"And how on Earth couldn't it be?" Peter asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Because I'm feeling extremely insignificant."

He chuckled. "You are the most significant thing in my world. Never forget that."

I blushed.

Peter chuckled again when he noticed. "Let's sit down, shall we?"

He led me over to his bed, and I sat down next to him. His hand was still holding mine.

"Does your mother know…you know…about last night?" I asked in a quiet voice.

His eyes went wide. "No. If my parents ever found out…_oh boy_." He laughed.

I felt a little ridiculous for asking such an obvious question, but shrugged it off. "Same here. My mom's never been one to discipline, and I've only known my dad for a while, but you never know what they could do _together_."

Peter smiled. "We should tell them, though. My parents, too."

I grimaced. "Are you _crazy_?"

Peter laughed. "No, no! Not about sneaking out. Just about…_us_."

I nodded, realizing what he meant. "Yeah, we probably should. Your mom might be wondering why we were holding hands when we walked in."

He laughed. "Yeah, that's why we should tell them."

"When, do you think?"

Peter shrugged. "Well, for starters, we could start with my parents tonight."

"Alright."

After we got that settled, I got him to tell me about the trophies; the significance of each one, and where he won them. He told me about them, very nonchalantly, of course. I was fascinated by how much practice it took for him to make it that far. Being so clumsy I was almost disabled, there was no possible way on Earth I could have accomplished a fraction of what Peter had. When I told them that, he just chuckled and reminded me that I outran a gang of grown men. That was somewhat of a consolation prize. After a while, out of pure boredom, we took a walk around the block, and we talked some more. We hardly ever ran out of things to say. By the time we got back, it was time for me to call my house, and tell my dad I wouldn't be returning until later. He didn't seem reluctant, which was a good thing. He just reminded me to not be too late, and to '_have fun_.' Maybe mom told him her suspicions. Oh well. They were going to find out about us anyway.

Mr. Langer returned home around five o'clock. Half an hour later, we were sitting at the table eating dinner. Although I didn't know either one of Peter's parents very well, I was starting to like them more and more as the night carried on. Once everyone was just about finished, Peter eyed me from across the table, where he was sitting. I understood the look right away. I nodded slightly.

"Mom, dad, Shannon and I have something to tell you," Peter announced in a very casual tone, standing up from the table. He walked to the opposite end of the table, gently pulled me up from my seat and took my hand in his.

"You two aren't getting _married_, are you?" Peter's dad asked, raising his eyebrows, but smiling.

Peter's hand tensed. I looked over to see Peter's shocked face. I was sure my face was shocked as well, and I was probably blushing.

Peter seemed to struggle getting the words out. "No, dad, no…but…how did you…"

I turned my head over to see Mrs. Langer, who was smiling as well.

"Peter, you didn't need to tell us you two were together. We knew you would be from the very second you two danced at Jack and Rose's wedding. It happened quite fast, I'll admit, but nevertheless, we were expecting it." She explained.

Peter's hand loosened a little, but he was still as surprised as I was, it seemed.

Mrs. Langer chuckled at my silence. "I expect we'll be seeing you a lot more often, Shannon?" She questioned, raising her eyebrows.

I struggled to speak. "Why…_yes_…yes…if that's alright," I stammered.

"Of course it is." Mr. Langer remarked. "Now, where's that cake?"

I looked at Peter's face, and his beautiful eyes were just as wide as mine probably were. I smiled a little, and he shrugged, and smiled back. Then, letting go of my hand and sitting back into his own chair, we all had cake.

**PLEASE REVIEW!!!**


	35. Chapter Thirty Four

September 1st, 1925

Chapter Thirty Four

"Wake up, Shanny. It's time for school."

I groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Was it morning already? There was no sunlight peering through the curtains by the window.

"Get up, hon. Get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast," My mom said, kissing me on the forehead, and leaving the room. I stretched, and kicked the covers off. After I changed into my new dark blue dress and brushed the tangles out of my curls, I went downstairs to the kitchen, where mom was making pancakes. Dad was sitting at the table reading the newspaper, just like he had almost every morning during the summer. I sat down at the table and my mom served breakfast. I ate faster than I normally did, and Dad noticed.

"Shannon, what's the rush? You have time." He chuckled.

I shrugged. "I don't want to be late, I guess."

"Are you nervous?"

I thought for a moment. Was I nervous? I was in a new town; I would be going to a new school, with new people whom I had never met before. I was normally shy when it came to making friends. But Peter had promised to walk me to school, which had made the point of getting up in the morning worthwhile. I didn't know what classes I would have with Peter, let alone if I was even going to have any classes with him. So yes, I was nervous.

"A little."

Mom smiled warmly, and I was somewhat comforted. "It's alright to be nervous, Shanny. But we all know you'll do wonderfully. You're a marvellous student. And Peter said he'd help you make friends."

That was true. He had promised me that. He had also ensured my parents he wouldn't let me get lost walking to and from school. My parents, thankfully, had accepted Peter as my...well...boyfriend, with open arms. They trusted him, and the fact that he was so much better with directions than I was had pleased them. They also trusted me to not make bad decisions...mostly what every parent expect of their thirteen year old. Although, sneaking out was probably not ideal...but we had only done that a few times, and it was never more than just a walk on the beach under the stars. And a kiss here and there.

"You're right mom. I'm just being silly."

After I ate, I got all my books together and waited in the front room for Peter. I felt bad that he had to walk this far out of his way for me, but he had insisted it was no trouble. Minutes went by, though they felt like hours. Dad kissed me and Mom goodbye and left for work. I was fidgety with nervousness, and luckily mom didn't notice from the kitchen. Finally, I heard a faint knock on the front door and I practically sprinted towards it and opened it. Peter was standing there, with a pair of corduroy pants and what seemed to be a new white shirt loosely tucked in. His hair, which had grown wavier over the course of the summer, was shining brightly in the morning sun, matching his eyes perfectly. He had a few books tucked under his left arm. My beautiful reason for getting out of bed this morning, standing right here in front of me.

He smiled crookedly at my speechless expression. He tended to do this to me at times. His intense stare would cause me to lose my train of thought. It wasn't his fault, though. He couldn't help it.

"Hi." He said simply.

I attempted to construct a composed expression on my face. It probably looked more like I was going to be sick. "Hi...Peter."

He ran a hand through his hair. "So, uh...you ready?"

I then remembered the purpose of his arrival at this inhumane hour in the morning...school. I sighed. "Yeah." I turned around. "Bye, Mom!" I shouted back into the house.

But my mom had something else in mind. "Wait, Shanny! Don't go! I need to take a picture!" She walked hastily into the front room, holding the metal, bulky camera in her hand.

"You kids are going to have a great first day!" She exclaimed as she held the camera towards her face. "Now, pretend you like each other and get together!" She instructed.

We both laughed; Peter out of humour, and me out of embarrassment. Peter wrapped his long arm around my waist, pulling me to his side. I put my arm around his stern shoulders. We smiled for the camera. Well, Peter smiled magnificently, of course. I simply parted my lips and bared my teeth. My mom kissed my forehead, telling me not to be nervous; totally blowing my cover in front of Peter.

Peter offered to carry my books for me, and I knew I wouldn't stand a chance against him in an argument. We stepped outside into the slightly cooler, but nevertheless warm Santa Monica breeze. Peter took my hand in his, considering I still had no idea which direction the school was in. We made our way down the sidewalk in silence; I was concentrated very deeply on breathing. After a few minutes, Peter spoke up.

"You know you have no reason to be nervous, Shan." He assured me. (Peter had taken to calling me 'Shan', which I preferred over any other pet name, like, 'sweat pea.')

I nodded. "I know. You seriously didn't believe my mom, did you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

Peter laughed out loud. "Come on, I know you better than that. Your mom didn't have to tell me anything. From the moment you swung open that door, all jumpy the way you were, I knew you were nervous."

I sighed, and thought for a moment. "You know, you are extraordinarily observant."

He laughed again. "Yes. And, you have a tendency to be extremely obvious at times," he pointed out.

I didn't have a good comeback after that. But I didn't need one. Peter simply laughed once more at my speechlessness, and pulled my hand up to his lips. We turned the corner, and reached the busier side of town. School was yet one block away.

Peter squeezed my hand, noticing my tension. "You'll be fine, Shannon. More than fine. You'll be great. I'll be lucky if I get to see you even once today, because so many people are going to want to be your friend."

"The idea of not seeing you isn't helping, Peter." I pointed out.

He sighed. "Okay, well how about this. I'll sit next to you in every class we have together, and I'll introduce you to everyone. Now, you can't get mad at me if you make too many friends. Is that a deal?" He smiled, awaiting my answer.

I laughed a little in spite of myself. What if I could be with Peter, and have a right amount of friends. Hasn't anyone ever heard of the perfect middle? "Heaven forbid I make too many friends..." I mused.

Peter laughed.

We were now in front of the school building. It looked the same as it did the last time I saw it. The only difference was it was flooded with people. Not that I had ever been unsociable, but the very thought of me marching up those steps, and introducing myself to complete strangers only made me hold Peter's hand tighter. If it hurt him, he didn't say it. He just continued walking straight forward, now practically dragging me behind him. He walked towards a group of people, both boys and girls, who were sitting on the big front steps of the school talking. They all stared up at him and smiled, seeming to not notice me.

I held back a gasp when Peter's hand let go of mine, and he greeted some of his friends that he had not seen over the summer, considering he had spent it with me. Now, I was alone, and unarmed. I bit my lip as three of the boys reached out to give him a playful punch on the arm, and demanded to know what kind of trouble he had gotten himself into over the summer. Peter just smiled brilliantly, and gestured towards me. Unexpectedly, he wrapped his arm around my waist, right in front of all his friends. Some of their eyes widened in astonishment. The girls, three, I had counted, were looking back and forth, Peter's face to my face. One of the boys, the boy with the black, curly hair and the dark blue eyes, opened his mouth up as if to say something, but didn't say anything. He closed it. Before anything could be explained, a voice, a girl's voice, sang loudly and high-pitched from behind us.

"Oh, Peeeeeterrrrr!" The voice called. I whisked my head over around, and saw something I hadn't anticipated. A girl about our age walked up the steps with such grace and elegance that was similar to my mother's. She wore an elegant, bright red dress, with lace along the collar. Her yellow hair was twisted perfectly on top of her head, and a few stray golden curls hung by her perfect face. Her eyes were very peculiar--deep blue with a greenish tint towards the center. Her face was as white and smooth as porcelain, unlike the sandy color of Peter's face, or the slightly pink tint of mine. Up to her perfect nose and lips, she was unquestionably, well...perfect. Her teeth gleamed as she reached the top of the stairs.

"Why Peter, I thought you'd moved away!" The beautiful girl exclaimed. To my sudden surprise, she stretched out her long, skinny arms and wrapped them around Peter's shoulders. His hand let go of my waist as he put his arms around the girl. It was as if I wasn't even there.

"Nice to see you again." Peter said, and I could sense a bit of uneasiness in his voice, but I still smile. "How was your summer, Celia?"

Ah, so her name was Celia. Even her name sounded perfect.

It was Peter who had to pull away from the hug, but Celia kept her hands on his shoulders, and looked at him straight in the face. Her eyes were wide as she spoke.

"Oh, it was wonderful. My daddy took me all the way to Paris! I bet I'm the only one in Santa Monica who has ever been to France!" She rattled on in her high pitched-voice.

"Wow, Paris..." Peter mused, drawing his gaze to my face, to my relief. He shrugged out of Celia's grasp, and her fingers slid down his brawny arms, and she seemed to want to let go of him.

Peter comfortingly put his arm in around my waist once again, and I did catch Celia's eyes widen for a fraction of a second.

"Oh! Is she your......" She didn't seem to find the right word.

Peter smiled, and pulled me closer to his side. "Yes." He didn't use the word 'girlfriend,' but he simply confirmed her question. He turned himself and me into the direction of the group of his friends. "Guys, this is Shannon Dawson. I met her over the summer, at her parent's wedding. She and her family just moved here at the beginning of the summer. Shan, this is Charlie, Luke, and Noah." Peter gestured towards the boys, all now standing with their hands in their pockets. They nodded, and greeted me with a simple 'hi.' I blushed slightly, much to my dismay, and said hello to them. Then, before I could comprehend what was happening, a girl with long, light brown hair and green eyes walked up to me, smiling.

"Hi, I'm Vivian. Welcome to Santa Monica," The girl said, smiling. She seemed a lot less shy then me.

"Hi," I said back.

Peter introduced me to the other two girls as Brooklyn and Paige, who both seemed friendly. We had turned almost completely around, and I had forgotten about the unreal seeming girl behind us. She reminded us of her presence by clearing her throat rather loudly.

Peter turned around. "Oh, um, Shannon, this is Celia. Celia, this is Shannon."

"Hi, Celia," I said hesitantly, as if I were speaking to a queen.

She stared at me for a moment, and then smiled. The smile didn't seem friendly to me. It seemed fake. "My...well, I never imagined Peter would find himself a girl like you. My, my..." She mused.

A girl like me? What did she mean? I decided to let the comment roll off, for it was probably a compliment. But I still wasn't sure.

"Um, yes, it's nice to meet you."

Celia didn't say anything back to me; she just smiled her fake smile and nodded. Before anything else could be said, the bell rang.

"Ah, that's our cue," joked Noah, the boy with red hair and glasses. I chuckled along with the others, only mine sounded nervous.

Students started to file into the building, but my feet were cemented to the ground.

"You ready?" Peter whispered into my ear.

I gulped. "In theory," It sounded more like a question than an answer.

He chuckled quietly. "You'll do great. You're doing great already." He started to walk me into the building. "It's not a death sentence, Shannon. It's school." He reminded me.

I sighed. "You're right." I held my chin up high in exaggerated confidence. "Let's get the show on the road," I muttered.

Santa Monica School seemed bigger—and grander on the inside. The hallways were lined with lockers, and the big, oak doors that led into the classrooms had rectangular windows, so I wouldn't feel trapped like I had imagined I would be in a windowless classroom. We were told to go to the gymnasium to get our schedules and our locker placements. Luckily, Peter didn't let go of my hand once, and we sat next to each other in the gym. Peter's friends all sat alongside us, including Celia, who sat on the opposite side of him. She whispered things to him, asking if he was excited for the new school year, how his summer was, and how much she hoped and prayed they had classes together. Peter answered her questions until the booming sound of the principal's voice silenced them. After a short speech, welcoming us to a new year at Santa Monica School, we were given our school forms. Everyone pulled out their schedules immediately, and started scanning over their classes. Peter and I examined each others. I had world history, gym, and English with him. That was somewhat of a relief, although it still meant I would have to face science, and alone. Vivian, Brooklyn, and Paige all looked at their schedules along with mine, and I found out that I had them in all of the classes I didn't have with Peter. That, too, was a small relief. At least I would know some people. Celia didn't bother comparing my schedule to hers. She did, although, go straight to Peter, and was thrilled to know that she was in his world history class, meaning she would be in my class as well. All of our lockers were spread out everywhere. Mine was on the opposite side of the building as Peter's, of course. My first class of the day was science, so after mentally preparing myself to let go of Peter's hand, we said goodbye, and Peter, this time, did not kiss my cheek like he normally did when we parted. For this, I was actually glad. Peter probably realized the last thing I wanted was people to be talking about Peter's new girlfriend. Vivian offered to walk me to my locker, since hers was only four down from mine. We walked down the long hallway of the school, dodging students walking in the opposite direction. When we were finally in a less crowded wing, Vivian started to talk to me.

"So, what did Peter mean about 'your parent's wedding'?" She started in a casual, yet curious voice.

I hesitated, trying to come up with a way to explain it to her without saying too much. "Well, my parents met a long time ago, and fell in love. There was a huge misunderstanding, but my parents were separated, and soon after my mom found out she was pregnant with me. My dad's an artist, and I saw one of his paintings in New York City, where I used to live. I tracked him down to Santa Monica, and brought my parents back together. I met Peter at their wedding," I explained, trying to sound as if I'd explained this story to people thousands of times before.

Vivian's thin eyebrows knit together. "Had you ever met your dad before you tracked him down?"

I shook my head. "No. I met him for the first time in June. He hadn't even known about me."

"Who is your dad? Maybe I've heard of him."

"You probably have. Jack Dawson."

Her face brightened in understanding. "Oh! The man who works at the art gallery...um...Scott Jories?"

I nodded, confirming her guess. "Yes, that's him."

"He must have been surprised," She mused.

"Yeah, well...surprised is an understatement." I chuckled, and Vivian laughed along with me.

"So do you...like him? I never met Mr. Dawson. I couldn't draw a picture if my life depended on it, so I never had a reason to go in the store," She explained, smiling.

"Yes. I feel like I've known him my whole life, not just a few months. He's the best father I could ever ask for."

"You're lucky to have him," Vivian told me.

"I know."

By now, we were right by our new lockers. I sighed, and Vivian noticed.

"Hey, I'll save you a seat," she promised.

I smiled. "Thanks, Vivian."

That day was actually fought without peril. I sat next to Vivian in science class, and we passed notes as the teacher rattled on about her rules for the classroom. From our note passing, I found out Vivian had a little brother, and her dad was a doctor. Her mom went to book club meetings, and suggested to me that my mom should go. The other two girls in the 'group' that had been waiting on the steps, Brooklyn and Paige, were also very nice to me in our next class, math. There were big, round tables instead of desks, and I sat down with my three new friends. The teacher was running late to class, which gave some lucky students an opportunity to run in the classroom after the bell rang. Brooklyn, Paige, Vivian, and I all talked while we waited. Brooklyn and Paige, of course, had been just as curious as Vivian had been about my parents. So, after explaining the story to them, and answering more questions, I was desperate to change to subject. But every time I tried, they switched the subject back. They seemed so intrigued at the fact that my family had been separated for so long. Luckily, the teacher entered the classroom and class started.

From what the teacher explained about the classes' curriculum I knew math would be no problem this year. After class, it was finally lunch. Lunch meant Peter, so I flew out of the classroom the second the bell rang. I then realized I had no idea where the cafeteria was, so I waited outside the room for Vivian, Paige, and Brooklyn to show me the way.

"In a hurry?" Brooklyn laughed with a chuckle, tucking a strand of curly, dark brown, almost black hair behind her ear.

I chuckled, blushing. "Yeah, I guess I got a little too ahead of myself when the bell rang. I don't really know where the lunchroom is," I admitted.

"Come on," Paige said, grabbing my hand. "We'll show you and you can sit with us."

The lunchroom was over crowded with round lunch tables and eight graders. I couldn't see through the mayhem, but Vivian, Paige, and Brooklyn didn't hesitate walking toward the corner of the large room, taking seats at one of the round lunch tables. Two boys, one with reddish brown hair, the other with blond hair, whom I recognized from the steps this morning and my science class, were already sitting, eating at the table. Noah and Charlie. They said hi to the four of us, and continued in their conversation.

"So, what are your favourite classes so far, you guys?" Brooklyn asked the members of the table as we all unpacked our paper bags of lunch. I only heard her speak; although I was not paying full attention. I had my eyes open for Peter.

I heard my new group of friends announce their favourite subjects, and was not surprised when I heard Noah and Charlie say lunch in unison. I engaged in the conversation then, knowing that Peter would arrive to lunch sooner or later. I told them my favourite subject so far was math. Noah and Charlie gave me mock-horror looks, questioning why on earth I would ever enjoy the subject. I just smiled and blushed.

Hands came on my shoulders at that moment, and I abruptly turned around. Peter was standing there, his tall frame sending a wave of relief through my body. I smiled, and he smiled back. He pulled out the empty chair next to me, and took a seat. The boy I recognized to be Luke sat next to him. Everyone at the table greeted him, as did I.

"How was the first half of your day?" He asked, his brown eyes teasing. I should have known he would get me to admit it wasn't so bad eventually.

"It was...good," I admitted, being honest.

Peter leaned in closer. I knew very well that school was not a good place to be intoxicated by someone else's presence, so I held my breath so I could not smell his sent. "I told ya' so," He murmured, so only I could hear. There was a boyish grin on his face, and his brown eyes were smiling.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but smile back. "Ha ha."

We continued our lunch, and I told him about my day. He seemed smiled at my unexpected enthusiasm, and everyone listening at the table probably thought I was a dork, but they didn't mention it. I didn't mind, though. I had a newfound energy for the rest of the day, because Peter would be in every class with me.

The rest of the day flew by quickly. I sat next to Peter in English, and Vivian, Luke, Noah, and I all passed notes in world history. In that class, Celia had stared at our table for most of the period, and I couldn't tell if she was glaring or not. I decided to let it go. Our last class of the day, gym, was what had gotten me nervous. Peter was the only one who knew of my extreme clumsiness issues, and that gym had always been my worst subject. He couldn't sympathize deeply, however; physical education had always been second nature to him. So luckily, since it was the first day, we wouldn't have to participate in any activities. Yet. It was so like me; always eager to avoid the inevitable. The school day came to an end, and Peter walked me home. Surprisingly, he didn't bask in his glory of having been right about school not being so horrible. He just listened to me talk about how I thought I was going to be good friends with Vivian, Brooklyn, and Paige, and how I thought his friends were odd yet nice enough. He teased me a bit about the fear in my eyes when I first walked into the gymnasium, having not known anyone. I blushed, and realized that all my worries from that morning seemed silly now. We eventually made it to my house. Peter kissed me quickly, for fear my mother was waiting anxiously at the front door, waiting to open it on her inconvenient cue. Luckily, she didn't. Peter promised to call me that night, and then strode back down the stairs, waved, and turned the street corner back to his house. I sighed, not quite ready to go inside and give my mother all the details of my first day. This is how it should be, I thought. Peter and I walking to and from school every day, meeting up in English, world history, and gym, always anxious to see each other. Kissing on the porch step, and him promising to call that night. That was the way I wanted it to always be. And I had a good feeling that it would be. At least for a while.


	36. Chapter Thirty Five

**Wow, I finished 2 chpaters over the weekend! I'm on a role. Review please!**

Chapter Thirty Five

October 31st, 1925

The wind howled, causing a tree branch outside to tap against my window. I shuddered at the eeriness of the night. I smoothed out my dark green dress, and made sure my hair was intact. I didn't want to give Celia the chance to ridicule me if there was a flaw in my appearance, like she often did at school. Especially at her own Halloween party. I was almost certain the only reason she invited me was that if she didn't, Peter wouldn't have come. Celia had become very comfortable around Peter over the past month at school. She invited herself to sit at our table during lunch, taking the seat right next to Peter, putting him in between us. She followed him and me in the hallways, always telling him about how her daddy was taking her on a grand vacation to some far off, exotic place, and how Peter really should come with them. Of course, she always ignored me, unless if it was to tell me that my shoes didn't match quite well with my jacket, or my hair looked a fraction out of place. Peter, Vivian, Brooklyn, and Paige all advised me to ignore her, but it was hard. It was plain and obvious to everyone, especially me, that Celia was simply jealous. Of course it bothered me, but whenever I mentioned it to Peter, he would kiss my forehead and assure me that she'd get over it. Although, it was peculiar to me how he'd always change the subject entirely whenever Celia's name was mentioned regarding her jealousy. It was something that had vexed me at first, but I later came to an assumption that it made Peter uncomfortable to speak about Celia when he already claimed to love me so dearly. Nevertheless, I left him alone about it these days.

Glancing over at the clock, I put down the hair brush and started downstairs. It was eight forty five, and Peter would come to pick me up in fifteen minutes. Downstairs, my mom was just opening the door with a bowl of candy in her arms, greeting some young trick-or-treaters dressed in sheets and carrying witches' brooms. Nobody invited to Celia's party would be wearing a costume. We were too old. Although, I wouldn't be surprised if Noah, Luke, and Charlie all showed up wearing some arrangement of a costume. Those three boys, whom I had become friends with along with Paige, Brooklyn, and Vivian, were the biggest nutcases I had ever met. They were constantly getting chastised in class by the teachers, and always up to something. Peter would sometimes join in with them, but _he_ had limits; unlike Charlie, Luke, or Noah. Sometimes they could be funny, but putting frogs in me, Vivian, Paige, and Brooklyn's lockers was not something I would call humorous.

My dad was re-lighting some of the jack-o-lanterns by the front windows as I entered the room. He and I had spent the weekend carving them, and taking out all the seeds and mush inside of them. My mom had not offered her help; she claimed that taking the innards out of a pumpkin was a disgusting task. Dad and I had teased her by putting some of the orange mush into the sink, on top of all the dirty dishes. She had screamed when she went to clean them, and Dad and I couldn't stifle our laughter when she held her hand to her heart, panting in both shock and disgust. Although my mother had never loved first class society when she was younger, I could tell that she still had upper class upbringings left in her, even now. Often times, the way she spoke, ate, and walked indicated that she had been well brought up. So, it was no surprise to my father and I that she was grossed out by the insides of pumpkins.

I took a seat down on the couch as my dad lit the last jack-o-lantern.

"Hey, angel," my dad greeted as he took a seat next to me. He wrapped his arm around me. "Are you excited?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Dad's eyebrows furrowed. "That's _very_ convincing, Shannon," he teased. My dad was too good at reading my face.

"Well, Celia doesn't really like me. Not at all, actually. The only reason I was invited was because then Peter would be going, and...well, she kinda...likes him." I explained.

My dad chuckled. "Don't worry about her, hon. She's just jealous of you."

I grimaced. "_Right_."

"No, really. Look at you. You've got a boyfriend, and you're pretty. She probably wishes she was you."

"Dad, she has _everything_. And by everything, I mean, her dad takes her on trips to Paris. She practically owns Macy's, and she _is_ pretty."

Dad chuckled. "Money doesn't buy happiness, Shannon."

My mom closed the front door. "He's right. I, of all people, should know that!" She chuckled.

Dad smiled. "Ya see?"

I nodded, and smiled. "I know you two are right. I'm just being silly."

"Shanny, Peter's here," My mom announced, looking out the window.

"Oh, okay. Love you," I said, getting up and walking towards the door."

My dad put my coat on for me. "We love you, too. Have fun tonight, Shannon."

"_And be back by ten_!" My over-protective mother instructed.

I laughed. "Okay, mom. Bye!"

Peter and I were just walking up the mile-long driveway leading to Celia Anderson's mansion of a house. There were other people ahead of us, whom I recognized from our school. Peter held my hand, for which I was kind of glad. I would show Celia...

We entered the house, which was even grander on the inside. It was no surprise to me that this palace-like home belonged to a family who went to Paris for a vacation. The floor was covered in a bright, decorative carpet, and a giant diamond chandelier hung from the ceiling. Kids from school flooded the place. There was soft music from an orchestra playing in the background. I was suddenly reminded of how my mother described the dining room on the Titanic—spectacular, bright, filled with people. I felt as if I was there now. My thoughts were destroyed, however, when Celia's face popped in front of us out of nowhere.

"Hello, Peter! Welcome!" She greeted, seeming to not notice me. She was wearing a white and gold dress that was so sparkly it hurt to look at it.

"Hi, Celia," Peter said casually. "Wow, you're house is amazing."

Celia's eyes brightened. "My daddy had is specially decorated _just_ for my party."

"Hmm," Peter said, nodding.

"We'll be dancing soon," Celia began, eagerly. "So I was thinking that _we_ could share the first dance." It was more of a demand that a question.

I was expecting Peter to promise her a dance, but politely tell her that he would be dancing with me at first.

"Of course, Celia. I'd be delighted." He hadn't even hesitated.

Her pearly white teeth gleamed annoyingly in her smile. "_Wonderful_! It'll start in a few minutes." Then she bounced away, to go greet some of her guests.

I turned to Peter, with a shocked expression on my face. "_Peter!"_ I breathed, not trying to make a scene.

He shrugged. "We're guests, Shan," he explained nonchalantly. "And Celia's our hostess. It's just being polite."

Although I didn't have a comeback to that, I still was not pleased. I then decided that maybe this was costmary; that guests are supposed to respect the wishes of the hostess. It didn't make me feel any better, though.

All of a sudden, three figures came in; one in an oversized sheet with cut out holes for eyes, another one in loose fitting pants, leather boots, a big, white ruffled shirt, a plastic sword in hand, an eye patch, and a pirate hat, and the last one wearing—a woman's dress? I then laughed out loud, recognizing Charlie as the ghost, Luke as the pirate, and Noah as the...er...girl. My past worries were instantly forgotten as everyone in the grand room burst into laughter. The three boys seemed completely un-phased. They just walked in casually, waved hello to Celia, who was standing amongst the crowd with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, not seeing any humor. Noah, Charlie, and Luke all came up to us, and greeted Peter, who was thankfully not in an awful costume.

"Hey, the freak show's here!" Peter chuckled, giving Charlie and Luke playful punches on the shoulder. He reached his fist out to punch Noah, but then stopped and put it back down by his side.

"Oh, wait, I wouldn't want to hit a _girl_..." He laughed, and everyone else, including me, laughed along with him.

"Shannon!" I heard a voice call from behind me. Brooklyn, Vivian, and Paige all entered our little circle and I said hello, relieved to see my best friends there. Yes, Vivian, Paige, Brooklyn, and I had become fast friends over the past few months. We spent weekends sleeping over at each other's houses, shopping, and talking about Peter, and Charlie, Brooklyn's new...well...boyfriend, I suppose. It was the relationship I had never really shared with anyone before, because no girl in New York City was ever friendly enough to me.

"Attention guests!" A loud, booming voice called over the crowd. "Please take your seats now. The dancing is going to begin."

_Great_. The eight of us all got up and sat down at one of the many huge tables in the room. People started dancing, although it was not the kind of dancing like at my parent's wedding. It was slower, and the music was a lot fancier. Most of the people did not know how to dance; they mostly just held hands and rocked back and forth and in slow circles.

Peter sighed, then got up and put his hand on my shoulder. "Now, I promise, I'll save the next dance for you."

I trusted him. "Okay. Hurry back."

He smiled, and if I hadn't been sitting down, I would have gone weak at the knees.

Peter than abruptly walked away, over to where Celia was standing, in the middle of the people dancing, and offered his hand to her. I watched for a minute as the two danced. The whole time, I noticed Celia's mouth moving, as she babbled on to Peter about something probably unimportant. I couldn't help but feel a little bit of resentment towards my dad. He had said Celia was the jealous one, and here _I_ was, green with envy as Peter danced with her.

"Shannon?" Vivian asked me, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes, Viv?"

"Why is Peter dancing with_...her_?" Vivian asked. Vivian, Brooklyn, and Paige also disliked Celia, for which I was glad. We were a few of the only girls who didn't worship the ground she walked on, like other girls who were desperate to have to luxuries of being Celia's friend.

I shrugged. "She asked him, and he said yes." I tried to make it sound like I didn't care.

Brooklyn joined in on the conversation. "But...why? I mean, he doesn't even like her anymore," She proclaimed.

My eyebrows knit together. "_Anymore_?"

The three girls all of a sudden seemed very fascinated by the dark red cloth that covered the table.

_"You guys_! What do you mean he doesn't like her _anymore_?" I asked, knowing that they were hiding something from me. Something about Celia and Peter.

Paige sighed. "Nice going, Brook."

"Sorry," Brooklyn muttered.

Paige turned to me. "Celia and Peter used to be...together. Last summer. Lucky for Peter, he got out of it before it got too bad. But Celia hasn't really...gotten over him yet. Which is why--"

"Which is why she's clinging on to him for dear life," I grumbled angrily, staring at the girl whose arms didn't belong around Peter's neck.

Vivian put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Shannon. I'm pretty sure Peter's gotten over her. He loves _you_ now." She assured me.

She was pretty sure. _Excellent._

"Are you mad at us?" Brooklyn asked quietly.

I shook my head. "No. And I'm not mad at Peter, either. He doesn't have to tell me all of the people he's ever been with. _Celia,_ however, is a different story..." I retorted.

The song came to an end, and I suddenly felt eager to dance with Peter. I stood up, waiting for him to walk over to me and bring me into the crowd of dancers. But he didn't. The second song began, and Peter didn't come back. After a minute, I felt like an idiot, standing there while everyone else was dancing. I sat down and watched everyone, wondering where Peter was. It was unlike him to go back on his word.

"Maybe he's getting you something to drink," Vivian offered.

I glanced over to the drink table. It was empty.

"He's not there," I told her, disappointed.

Vivian was about to say something, but then Luke came over, still in his pirate attire, offering his hand to Vivian. Vivian blushed, and looked over at me, and I could see her eyes begging. And, I wanted her to go dance with him. She deserved to.

I made my eyes appear wide, smiled, and mouthed _go_!

Vivian smiled apologetically, and walked onto the dance floor with Peter's best friend. Now it was just Paige and I. Paige took Vivian's seat next to me.

"No sign of him yet?" She asked.

I shook my head. "No."

"This house is so big. Maybe he got lost," she joked.

I chuckled; trying to wish that was true.

The song ended, and it was time for dinner. Butlers carrying platters of food entered, and everybody took a seat at one of the large tables. I waited a few minutes, watching my friends talk and laugh. The seat next to me remained vacant.

That is, until Peter came and sat down next to me. It was as if he'd appeared out of nowhere. I was relieved to see him, and I was about to ask him where he'd been, but he explained before I could.

"I'm so sorry, Shan. I know I promised you the second dance, but then Celia started introducing me to her parents and all these other people, and I just couldn't go." He explained apologetically.

I let out a breath of relief. I could now imagine Peter, talking amongst Celia's snobby family and friends. I imagined him trying to be a gentleman and speaking to them without sounding too rushed. I had been wrong, once again. It was just Celia being, well, _Celia_.

Our food came, and the night carried on. There was more dancing after desert, and I finally got to officially dance with Peter. We turned around in small circles, not paying attention to the music. Occasionally, Peter would lean down and whisper something into my ear. I was delighted when we ended up dancing next to Celia and her temporary partner whom I recognized from school; one of those boys wrapped around Celia's slender fingers. I saw her eyeballing Peter, so I took that chance and put my lips to his, which must have caught him off guard, although he didn't complain. When we pulled apart, I quickly turned to face Celia, who was looking at us. In the same second I turned, she whisked her head around, but I could still see the shock on her face. I smiled to myself. Although, I must have had forgotten that I was actually dancing with Peter, who could see my motions. He noticed that the only reason I kissed him was to see Celia's face.

"_Shan_!" He whisper-shouted, his eyes questioning.

I shrugged and smiled, hoping the innocent look on my face would distract him from inquiring me. I looked into his deep, brown eyes, which never ceased from astonishing me.

It must have worked, because he didn't say anything afterwards, he just leaned down and kissed me on the forehead.

The night finally came to an end. Peter had danced with me the whole time, and no one else. Celia had shot me glares, disgusted looks, and overall, jealous expressions. It was great. Peter didn't mention anything about it, but I know he must have noticed. I did feel sort of foolish, though. Peter was being a polite guest by dancing with the hostess; and here I was, making her as jealous as I could. We both thanked Celia, (I forced myself to behave just this once) and followed the other guests out the door. We started to walk down the long driveway in silence. I was feeling a bit smug, although it wasn't good enough since I didn't have anyone to share it with. Peter was quiet and thoughtful until we reached the end of the driveway. We proceeded to turn the corner when he stopped and let go of my hand.

"Shoot!" He retorted, running his hands through his wavy hair.

"What is it?" I asked, startled.

"We left our coats inside. I'll go get them," he said, turning around.

"_No_!" I said, grabbing his hand before he could walk. The last thing I wanted was to go back in there. "No, we'll get them tomorrow morning. I scanned my brain for a good excuse. "Our parents will be worried if we're not home on time, and if we have to go all the way back up there, we'll be late."

"Not if I run," He pointed out.

I couldn't argue with him there. If he ran up the driveway, leaving slow, clumsy me behind him, it would only make a two or three minute difference on our return time. But if I didn't go with him and Celia was in there...I shuddered.

"We'll go tomorrow morning. Celia's parents have probably locked the doors already anyway." I insisted, pulling his hand.

He squinted, thinking. "No, Shan...I _really _think I should go get them now."

I grit my teeth together. "Peter, it's not a big deal. We'll get them tomorrow. It's likely that they'll still be there."

He thought for a moment, and then sighed. "Alright." He came back to my side and took my hand again. We started walking, but he abruptly stopped. "Wait, but what if we get cold?"

I rolled my eyes as I pulled his arm around my shoulder. Then, wrapping my arm around his waist, I pulled him closer to me. "Are you warm enough _now_?" I asked, looking up at him

He chuckled, and kissed the top of my head. "Plenty warm."

We made it to my house a few minutes before ten o'clock. Peter walked me up the porch steps, but I didn't go in just yet. I wiggled out of his hold around my shoulder, and held his hands, playing with his fingers. We stared at each other for a minute.

"So...can I ask you something?" He asked me, staring intensely into my eyes.

"Sure you can."

"Why did you keep looking at Celia while we were dancing?"

I bit my lip, knowing I would have to confirm his suspicion that I had hoped he'd forgotten about. "What do you mean?" I stalled. I knew it wouldn't last much longer; I was a horrible liar.

"I think you know what I mean. After you kissed me that one time, you looked straight at Celia. Admit it Shan, you were taunting her." He said, although I couldn't tell if he thought it was funny.

I decided not to take my chances by lying again. "Hmm...maybe a little."

He sighed. "_Shannon_..." Okay, so he definitely did not find it funny.

"I know, I know. It was childish and silly. But...Peter...I mean, _come on_. You _had_ to have noticed how much she was hanging on to you." I said, staring into his unhappy brown eyes.

"Hanging on me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Really, Peter, are you blind?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I sighed. "_She was...when she was dancing with you...she was.._." My babbling sounded ridiculous. The bottom line was, he didn't know. He didn't realize that Celia was holding him close enough to her to make me unhappy.

"Nevermind," I remarked, trying to make it sound like I wasn't pouting.

He sighed, dropping my hands and putting his hands to his sides. "Shannon, I really don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, but whatever it is, this business about Celia _hanging all over me_, I mean, you know she means _nothing_ to me, right? She's just a girl. She's nothing like you." He said, sincerity in his eyes.

I blushed. I should have known this already.

"Well, if this makes up for how stupid I was tonight, can I tell you that I've never met anyone like you, either?" I asked him, making my voice light.

He didn't answer. He just put his thumb under my chin, tilted me head up, and pressed his lips to mine. I had to stand on my toes to reach him; he was a good four inches taller than me.

The kiss only lasted a matter of seconds, because before we were ready to end it, the porch lights flicked on. I gasped, breaking the kiss. Behind Peter, I saw my dad in the window, smirking.

"_My dad_..." I whispered, and Peter instantly backed away from me.

I blushed, knowing my dad was still watching.

"See you tomorrow, Peter."

"See you," he said, walking down the steps.

I opened the door, and my dad was still standing by the window, watching Peter walk down the sidewalk.

"Enjoying the view?" I asked him sarcastically.

"I wasn't before, but now, I kind of am." I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Dad, you can turn around now. Peter's not going to be sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night or anything." Well, he may, but probably not.

My dad turned. "Enjoy your night?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it was fun. I'm really tired, though. I think I'll get some sleep."

"Alright," he said. He kissed my forehead. "'Night, angel."

"Goodnight, dad."

I walked upstairs, and after I took a shower, I changed and crawled into bed, exhausted. I slept restlessly that night, falling in and out of sleep. The noise of the branch outside my window didn't help much.

I slept late the next morning. I woke up at eleven, and walking downstairs, my mother was just serving waffles to my dad.

"Oh, good morning Shannon." My mom smiled, putting the platter on the table and kissing my head. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," I replied.

"You just missed Peter's phone call. He said he would go to Celia's house, and get your coats. I guess you two left them there yesterday. He also said he'd drop it off here later." She explained.I sighed, but then remembered I had no reason to be frustrated. Peter had told me so last night.

"Maybe I'll go to his house to get it," I suggested. "I haven't seen Mrs. Langer for a while."

That afternoon, I set out to walk to Peter's house. I rarely walked alone, considering my direction skills were still not that good. But I had walked to Peter's house often enough to know where it was. The day was a bit cooler, although it may have been because I didn't have a coat. I turned onto Elm street, proud that I had made it to his home without getting lost. The neighbourhood was empty. No afternoon strollers were out today. I walked up the front steps to his house and knocked on the door. No answer. I turned around, and saw that his parent's car wasn't there. There was a possibility that Peter could be with them, but he hadn't mentioned he was going anywhere. He was usually home on Sunday afternoons. I knocked again, but stopped mid-knock.

"_She's no one to you, Peter. She's just a girl_." I heard someone else's voice inside Peter's house. Someone with an annoyingly high pitched voice. I knew almost instantly who that voice belonged to.

"_Celia_..." I heard a huskier voice say.

My eyes widened in shock. I instantly put my hand on the front door handle, turning it a little. It was unlocked. Surely Peter and little Celia wouldn't mind if I invited myself in...

I swung open the door, and it slammed on the other side of the wall. That's how long it took me to absorb what was going on. Celia, with her arms wrapped around Peter's neck, had her lips on Peter's mouth. _My_ Peter. Her eyes were closed. Peter's hands were on Celia's shoulders; _he was holding her._ They both jumped as the door hit the wall, and broke apart from their affectionate position. I couldn't stay in that house anymore. My mind was too clouded to think; to feel any emotions. All I knew was I had to leave. Now.

I pivoted around, and flew down the porch steps. I turned sharply around the corner, and sprinted down the sidewalk. There was no risk of me running into anyone, so I was able to run on the smooth sidewalk without falling. As I ran down Elm Street, I realized what had happened. Peter had kissed Celia. They had both agreed that I was nobody, just a girl, and then they had kissed. Peter had said those words to me just the night before, but about Celia. He had lied to me. He had cheated on me. I hadn't realized I was crying until I felt something wet seep down my face, and drip off my chin. And I wasn't aware that I was being followed, until I felt a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

"_Shannon_!" Peter cried, as he jolted me to a stop. He held on to both of my shoulders, restraining me.

He still had feelings for her, I thought. "Get your hands _off_ of me!" I yelled, trying to squirm out of his strong grip.

"Shannon, wait! Please! Let me explain!" He begged, and I could see his brown eyes glaze with tears, threatening to fall. Somehow, he held them back, unlike me.

"Let go of me!" I yelled again, taking his wrists and trying to pry them off my shoulders. I couldn't. He was too strong. I needed him to let go of me. I needed to get away from him.

"_Let go_!" I yelled again, and to my surprise, before I could stop myself, I balled my hand into a fist and swung it into Peter's stomach. I heard him gasp as I turned around, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him sink down to his knees, holding his sides. I didn't care. He had hurt me, and I hurt him. Although, we still weren't even. I started sprinting again, around the corner, across the street, and all the way to my house. I ran up the front steps, and swung open the front door. My dad was sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper. He threw the newspaper on the ground when he saw the state I was in.

"_Shannon_!" He breathed, startled. "What's wrong?" He got up and caught me as my knees gave out.

I couldn't speak. I just collapsed into dad's arms. I cried. I cried harder than I had when I first found out my dad was alive. This time, my dad held me close to him, kissing my hair and rubbing my back, and murmuring encouraging words to me.

"It'll be okay," he soothed. "_It'll be okay_."

My heart was shattered. I had trusted it with someone, and he had dropped it. My heart had broken into millions of pieces. Tiny, microscopic pieces.

No amount of glue in the world could ever paste it back together again.

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	37. Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Six

My parents had listened to me intently as I sobbed out the events of the day.

The images were clear; still fresh in my memory. I could see Peter and Celia's embrace. I could see the look of smugness that had crossed over Celia's face when I had entered the room. I could see the fake desperation in Peter's eyes. I could even feel the pressure on my left hand from when I had thrust it into Peter's stomach.

I couldn't comprehend the amount of emotion inside me. I didn't even know what it was. Not anger, not sorrow. It was a miserable emptiness; a hollow feeling. The love, the life that had once ruled my existence was gone. It had left too quickly. It hadn't even given me a chance to say goodbye. And throughout it all, I knew I should have been angry. I knew I should have been angry, but relieved that the newfound dishonesty of my life was no longer present. But I wasn't angry. I craved that dishonesty. It was more tolerable than the emptiness.

The ceiling in my bedroom now held wonders that I had never noticed before. Each indent, each barely invisible line of paint was now easy for me to distinguish. Staring at my ceiling had kept me occupied for the remainder of the afternoon and into the evening. I hadn't eaten, and I hadn't spoken since I told my parents what had happened. It all seemed pointless to me now. Human necessities didn't matter to me at the moment. The only necessity I desired for was out of my reach now, and in someone else's. Someone who hadn't treasured life as I once had. Celia would be taking on the reigns of a stranger. I knew Peter. I knew him more than anybody else did. I had seen him laugh, and I had seen him in a more serious state. I had trusted him with my family's secret. I had trusted him with my heart. He had dropped it, therefore shattering it. Not one piece was left for me to claim. Not one piece left for me to start over with.

And Celia. She was nothing but first class at its worst. A high society girl with her perfect nose stuck up in the air. A spoiled brat, prepared to do anything to get what she wanted. Even if had meant destroying someone else's chance at happiness.

I should have known this wouldn't have lasted forever. I had gotten everything—everyone—I had always wanted. My father and Peter. The only two men I couldn't live without. My heart hadn't divided its love between the two. It had only grown so it could withstand the amount of adoration I had gained as the two walked to my life. The sudden withdrawal of love had caused my heart to fall over the edge. It fell, in slow motion, as it seemed, until had crushed into pieces. And the adoration was gone.

A soft knock on my bedroom door interrupted the quietness.

"Shannon?" It was my Father. The door opened slowly and carefully, as if my dad was trying his hardest not to startle me.

"I'm sorry, hon. Were you asleep?" He murmured, walking over to me apprehensively.

Had I been? I had been lying here, still for so long. I could have had easily drifted off.

"No." My voice was weak; hoarse.

My dad took a seat next to me on the bed, and ran his fingers through my hair gently.

"Your mother made dinner, angel. We think you should come downstairs to eat," He suggested anxiously.

It hadn't taken me even a second to respond. "I'm not hungry."

My dad didn't object. "Alright." He stared at me for a moment, and then sighed."You know, Shannon, I know how you feel. I, too, once felt lost and alone. You remember; when you first came to the art store. The first time I met you. When you left, I thought my life was over. I felt like crawling into a hole, and never coming out. It seems like a long time ago, doesn't it? But it's only really been a few months. And look how happy I am now? Things turned out for the better in the end. Things will turn out for you too." He seemed confident with his statement.

I thought for a moment. Our situations had been too different for him to have known how I currently felt. First of all, he had a daughter. That was a major barrier then and there.

"You_ don't_ know how I feel." It came out harsher than I intended it to.

"Honey, but I do—"

"_No you don't_!" Anger washed through me, kind of surprising me. My heart rate sped up, and I felt my cheeks burning. This was not something I or my father had been anticipating.

"You don't know how I feel, Dad! You could never!" I yelled, shaking the whole house.

My father's eyes widened at my sudden outburst, but his voice remained calm. "Look, I know things look bad now, but they don't stay this way forever, Shan."

I hadn't heard what he said. Every word except 'Shan' had been muted. Only Peter called me Shan. _Only Peter_.

"Don't call me that!" I screamed, sitting up in bed, more angry now than ever.

"Shannon..."

"_Get out_!" I needed him out. My dad was at no assistance to me at the moment. I was flaring with fury.

"Shannon..." He murmured again.

"I said get out!" And before I could stop myself, I whisked up the pillow I had been lying on, and chucked it at the wall. The pillow hit my drawing of the beach on Myrtle Street. The frame crashed to the ground, and shattered into glass pieces all over the floor.

My dad shot his head into the direction of the sudden sound of glass breaking, and stared at the picture frame I had just destroyed. Then, he turned around and looked at me, his blue eyes full of emotion. His jaw trembled slightly as he slowly stood up and pivoted towards the door. I hadn't even noticed my mom standing in the threshold, her hand covering her mouth. My dad put his arm around her waist, and shut the door behind him. I heard their footsteps slowly trudge down the stairs. Slow, sad footsteps.

What had I done? What had become of me in such a short period of time—less than a day?

Yesterday had been perfect—just as my life had been ever since I moved to Santa Monica.

My dad had been right, in a way. I needed to crawl into a hole. But there no holes in my bedroom. Without even thinking, I flung my legs off the bed and onto the floor. They felt heavy, like they weighed hundred pounds each. I avoided stepping on the glass in my bare feet as I quickly and clumsily made my way over to the corner of the room. I curled up into a ball in the corner of the room, in between the dresser and the wall.

Why had this happened? What had I done wrong to deserve this?

It must have had been my stupidity the other night at Celia's party. Perhaps my complaining had triggered old thoughts and feelings in Peter's mind that had caused him to think differently of me...and Celia. This was my fault. Once again, I had unintentionally been the clueless demon who had provoked things to go wrong. It was as if I had asked things to go wrong. I was furious at Peter for taking such a far step in the opposite direction once he realized he didn't want me anymore. But I had still caused the mayhem.

Yes, this was close enough to a hole as I could get.

The heart-destroying images flooded my mind that next morning. Each one complete with every detail just as I had remembered it. Yesterday's occurrences had not escaped me, and I hadn't even opened my eyes all the way yet.

The pressure on my forehead told me that I was still curled up in a ball, in my own little version of a hole. I sat all the way up, and winced at the soreness in my back. Standing up, I stretched out every aching muscle. Sleeping on the floor, in such a small space, had been a bad idea. I didn't even remember falling asleep. Sleep had seemed unimportant to me last night, just as any human necessity had been. I hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day.

I took a look around my room, and closed my eyes and shook my head at what I saw. The bed was unmade; the sheets all tangled up and the mattress was a few inches off the bed frame. The pillow I had thrown was still on the floor, lying next to a million pieces of broken glass and a wooden picture frame. The picture, which I had drawn so long ago as it seemed, was lying face down, and pieces of glass were on top of it. Sighing, I walked over towards the mirror, and was even more horrified at the scene. My hair was a tangled mess, and it was styled oddly on the side of my head. My eyes were red and puffy from crying all night. They didn't even seem the right shade of blue. They were gray, like the morning sky on a rainy day.

I turned away from the fearful image reflecting myself in the mirror, knowing that seeing my appearance would only make matters worse. It would take a long time for me to brush all the tangles out of my hair.

Time reminded me—school! I whisked my head over to the side of the wall. It was 9:00, and school had started an hour ago! Mom hadn't woke me up...maybe there was a reason for that.

Don't panic, I told myself. Who needs school anyway?

I did wonder, however, if any one of my parents were home. I opened my door, and slipped out into the dim hallway. Downstairs, no lights had been turned on, but my mom's shoes were missing from the carpet next to the front door. I caught a glimpse of a note on the refrigerator in my mom's handwriting.

_Shanny,_

_Your dad and I agreed that today would be a good mental-health day for you. Relax, and make sure you eat something. Dad is taking the day off too, and so you won't be alone. Things will be alright, Shannon. I know they will._

_Love, Mom._

I sighed at my mother's encouraging words, although the last part was a lie.

I was almost willing to follow through with the second part of her note, but I wasn't hungry. I decided to make my way back upstairs, although I didn't have the slightest idea of what to do there. It was beyond me that I was feeling so differently today, because normally I would be starving in the morning. I could only remember one other time when I wasn't hungry after having not eaten for a long period of time. It was when I had first found my dad, and when he had turned me away. But this situation--losing Peter-- it felt even worse.

I couldn't come up with any feeble excuse to occupy myself other than to get ready for my day at home, and clean up my bedroom. I changed out of my dress from yesterday and into a more comfortable nightgown—the only comfort I had at the moment—and I brushed the knots out of my hair. I retrieved the broom out of the bathroom closet and swept up the broken pieces of glass off the floor, making sure single shards were not trapped in between the floorboards.

After my room was back to the way it had been the day before, I thought for a moment.

The pictures on my walls, drawn by me and my dad both, used to symbolize great things that had happened to me in my life. Now, they were simply reminders of the past; the past that had changed so drastically in such a short period of time. My memories were torment enough—I didn't need reminders on paper. I tore each one off the wall. One by one, the sketches of the Santa Monica Pier, the rollercoaster, and the beach on Myrtle Street disappeared from the wall. I removed each one, and took them out of their frames. I didn't bother looking over them too much. They didn't mean anything to me anymore; or at least, that's what I tried to tell myself. I then proceeded into my walk-in closet, the stack of pictures in hand. I reached up on the top shelf, where a few empty shoe boxes were stored. The drawings would fit perfectly into one of them. I placed the drawings into the box, and then carefully lifted up one of the loose floorboards in the back of my closet. The shoebox fit perfectly, almost as if the space under the floor was created to house the box. I then slid the floorboard back over the top, sealing the gap. Along with the last shattered remainder of my heart.

My dad slept in as he always did on weekends. Today was the exception, considering it was actually Monday.

I flipped through pages of a Jane Austen book, scanning the words, but not reading the sentences. I couldn't form paragraphs in my mind.

While I "read", I heard a faint noise from outside my door. It was my dad, finally emerging from sleep. My first thought was that maybe he would knock on my door, asking if I wanted some pancakes. I might have said yes, because I actually was feeling rather hungry. But of course, that didn't happen. My dad must have been too mad at me. I didn't blame him. I was mad at me. I had taken my anger and sadness out on him when he didn't deserve it. I had to talk to him; apologize. Not that he'd be willing to forgive me at first, but it was worth a try. How could things get any worse, anyway?

I stepped silently out of my bedroom and into the sunny hallway. After trudging downstairs, I wasn't surprised to see my dad sitting at the kitchen table, as he did every morning. Although, he wasn't reading his newspaper as usual. He was staring blankly at his cup of coffee, thinking hard.

"Daddy?" My voice sounded hoarse and cautious.

His head immediately shot up in my direction. "Honey..."

I walked over to the opposite side of the table and took a seat. "Dad, I'm really sorry...about yesterday. That was..." Words failed me.

My dad just shook his head and smiled, but it seemed painful. "Angel, please don't apologize. You had every right to be angry yesterday."

"But not at you!" I protested in my weak voice. I must have not sounded very convincing."Shannon, you just went through a lot and its okay if you were frustrated. Don't apologize. I'm not mad at you. I'm much too worried about you to ever be mad." His blue eyes stared intensely into mine. This is what bothered me. My dad was too caring; too understanding.

"Dad..." I sighed, feeling yesterday's leftover tears begin to fill my eyes. I let my head sink into my palm. "I..._I don't know what to do_." My voice cracked on the word _do_.

"Oh, hon..." My dad pushed his chair out behind him, and walked around the table. He knelt down in front of my chair. "You don't have to do anything," he started. "You just have to stay home, and get some rest. That's all." He tried to soothe.

Peter's face suddenly appeared in my mind. He was the only thing that would ever soothe me. Despite everything he had done to cause me to need soothing. "Dad...I...I _loved _him. I..." I stammered on, finding that I couldn't find words to describe the pain Peter had caused me.

My dad nodded, understanding. "I know you did. And he loved you, too."

That caught me by surprise. I shot my head up, wondering what in the world had suddenly possessed my father to cause him to think such things. "Dad, he didn't...he--" I wondered if I had left out the part about Celia yesterday when I explained things to him...

"Shannon, now, I don't know why he did what he did. He obviously made a horrible decision, and heaven knows why. But your mom and I aren't naive. He cared for you every bit as much as your parents do. And I'm not defending him in anyway, believe me, but _look_ at me Shannon."

I looked at him.

"I've made some pretty bad decisions too," he continued. "You remember when we first met. How awful I was. And--"

"_Daddy!_ That's different! He...Celia...they..." Words failed me once again.

"I know, I know. Shannon, listen to me. I learned my lesson the day you barged out of the art store, angry at me. When you walked into Peter's house, and when you saw them...Peter probably learned his lesson, too. Shannon, the kid was being an idiot, and he probably regrets it," My dad explained.

I just shook my head. "Daddy...he doesn't..."

"You can't know that," my dad protested gently. "If there's anything we've learned about Peter over the past few months is that the boy has some common sense. Obviously, he wasn't using it with Celia, but he will feel the guilt, just as anyone else would."

I wanted to tell my dad he was wrong, but I didn't bother. The only thing I had come down here for in the first place was to earn my dad's forgiveness, and I had. But I didn't come down here to hear things I didn't want to hear; things I knew couldn't be true.

I sighed, surrendering to my father's statements. "You're right, dad." I forced the words out. "Peter probably knows what he did was wrong. He probably regrets it."

My dad sat up and kissed my forehead. "That's my girl. How about some breakfast?"

Eating would not help anything right now. But I was on a role with the inevitable, so I might as well have kept going. "Sure."

I manually ate the pancakes my dad served, and then headed upstairs, claiming I was going to get a little more sleep.

I didn't sleep upstairs. I lay in bed, and read, once again, not concentrating at all. But I didn't let myself think of Peter, or of Celia. I wondered what my friends were thinking. Surely Vivian would be wondering why I wasn't as school, just as Paige and Brooklyn probably were. I wasn't sure if I should tell my three friends about my experience. Of course, that's what best friends did. They cried to you after something horrible happened to them. So maybe, I would tell them. Surely, they would agree that Peter was an idiot. Maybe I could even explain to them that I still needed him, despite what he had done. They would knock me out of it; help me realize that I didn't want to have Peter in my life anymore. He had cheated on me, and I had no reason for him anymore. They would help me.

I then wondered about Peter's friends, Luke, Noah, and Charlie. Had Peter told them about what he had done? Maybe they already knew, and maybe they already told Vivian, Brooklyn, and Paige. I couldn't decide if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. It was possible that Peter hadn't told anyone. Either way, it wouldn't make a difference.

The rest of the day went by fast; in a blur seemed like a proper statement. I ate lunch, my dad watching me like a hawk the whole time. I spent most of the day in my room, blankly staring at words in a novel or studying for the world history quiz I was supposed to take today. I would have drawn. I wouldn't have drawn something happy, like the outline of a sunset or the seagulls flying around in the parking lot of the grocery store. I would have drawn something dull, bleak, something that expressed my mood. But I couldn't bring myself to walk across the room and pick up my pencil and paper, and sketch as I normally would have on a day off. I couldn't occupy myself with anything that reminded me of Peter. My memories were worse enough.

I hadn't even realized it was three thirty until I glanced out the window and noticed some kids in the seventh grade walking past my house in a group, making their way back home. I was tense at first. What if Peter showed up, for whatever reason? Would I get mad? Would I stomp my foot like a little kid who didn't get her way? Or maybe I would get too emotional. I shuddered at that thought. Peter didn't need to see me ever get like that. He wouldn't.

In fear of anyone knocking on my door, I stayed locked up in my room, leaving my complete trust in my father. Surely he would say I was ill if there was someone at the door who I wouldn't want to see.

Three thirty turned to four o'clock, and four o'clock turned into five o'clock. No one came. I was beginning to feel relieved, because it was better to have no one come than to have Peter come.

The feeling of relief wore off when the doorbell rang.

My stomach tightened as I heard the front door squeak open, and the hum of my dad's soft voice greeting the visitor. I relaxed when I heard a gentle female voice respond to him; sure that it was one of my friends. I sat up, and ran my fingers through my curls in an attempt to straighten up. I heard quick steps up the stairs, and before I could get up, there was a knock on my door.

"Shannon?" I recognized Vivian's voice instantly.

I swung my legs out of bed and raced to the door; the fastest I had moved all morning. I opened the door, to find a familiar face standing there with a load of school books in her arms.

"_Vivian_!" My voice was relieved. She had come just in time. I threw my arms around her, catching her off guard. She struggled with the weight of the books in one arm as she returned the gesture with the other.

"Hi, Shannon..." She seemed confused. But then I realized I had only seen her a few days ago, and that it was strange that I was hugging her as if I hadn't seen her in years.

I let go of her, and lead her inside, shutting the door behind me.

"I brought your homework for you," Vivian told me as she set the books down on my dresser. She turned around, but stopped in her tracks when her eyes met mine.

I sat down on the bed abruptly. "What?"

Her green eyes narrowed in confusion. "You must be awfully sick. You look _horrible._"

Did I really? "Oh," I said, at loss of what to say in return.

Vivian sat down on the other side of the bed, as if not wanting to catch my sickness.

"Viv, I'm not sick." I told her.

"You're not? Why weren't you at school then?"

I sighed. "Did Celia sit at our table today?" I asked, wanting to avoid her question.

Vivian's eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "No, she didn't today. Why?"

I hesitated, not sure if I should sob out my story to her as I had my parents, or tell her in bits and pieces.

"Shannon, what's going on? Why weren't you at school?" Her voice seemed worried now.

I blinked back tears that had arrived before I could stop them. "I wasn't...because...yesterday...Peter and Cel—Celia...I...they kissed. She was kissing him. He was kissing her back." My voice cracked on the last sentence.

"_What_?!" Vivian's eyes were wild with confusion, and intense with the need to know what happened. "What do you mean they _kissed_?!"

I shrugged, blinking back more tears. "I don't know what to tell you, Viv. I walked into Peter's house because I heard a girl's voice in there. They were talking...about me. And then they kissed. I walked in just as they were kissing. I--"

"Wait, what were they saying about you?" Vivian demanded me to tell her.

I swallowed. "Celia said I was a nobody...just a girl..." I trailed off, trying to get rid of the tears with my eyelids.

"And....! What did Peter say?!"

"He just said her name," I remembered. "He was agreeing with her. I opened the door right after that...and...they had their arms around each other...and...I ran away, Vivian...I didn't know what else to do." So much for holding back the waterworks. I was so sick of crying.

"Oh, Shannon..." Vivian hugged me, and I cried into her shoulder. I was so comforted by her presence at the moment. I really needed a friend right now, and Vivian was there for me. I wasn't at all surprised by the sudden wave of shock that had gone through her as I told her, because she had known Peter longer than I had. And she had thought he would never do anything like this, just as I had assumed.

She let my cry for a moment, and then leaned me up with her hands on my shoulders.

"What happened next?" She asked, her expression not as confused anymore.

"I ran down the steps, and Peter ran after me. He grabbed my shoulders, and tried to explain, he tried to make an excuse. I had to leave...but...he wouldn't let me go. So...I punched him in the stomach...and I ran home." More tears seeped down my face as I remembered the anguish in Peter's eyes when this had occurred. The physical pain I was sure to be real, but the rest...

"Oh my goodness..." Vivian murmured. "But...how could Peter _do_ that?! He _loves_ you! He absolutely _adores_ you!" She protested.

I just shook my head. "He doesn't. He...he loves Celia, Vivian."

Vivian shook her head, surprising me a little. "I don't think so."

"Yes he does!" I exclaimed, startling myself. "Vivian, you said they used to be together! Don't you see that he has never stopped loving her?! And they danced during the party. That's when he realized he still had feelings for her! And he was so eager to go back inside the house after we'd forgotten our coats afterwards! He wanted to see her! And she came to his house—"

"_Shannon_," Vivian interrupted, pushing me back down on the bed. I hadn't even realized that I stood up. "Shannon, I really don't think so. They were together before, but that was a long time ago. Peter broke up with Celia. He despised Celia. And he didn't talk to Celia all day. At lunch, too...he seemed...quiet...I don't know. We asked him if he knew were you were, and he said he didn't know. He was so lost today, Shannon. And...I think maybe you're wrong." She seemed sure of herself. It was hard to doubt her, but that may have been because I wished so badly that were true.

"Vivian...I just can't believe that. He kissed her." I retorted.

Vivian thought for a moment, and sighed. "Well, I don't have an answer to that. He was stupid, Shannon. And it's okay if you're mad at him. But I still don't think he loves Celia. I don't think he even likes her. They ignored each other all day."

"I don't know what to do, Viv. I loved him. And when I think about what he did, ever cell in my body aches to forget about him; to move on. But I look past yesterday, and all I keep seeing his him; his face, his smile. And I can't forget him. I...I don't want to. I know I should never want to speak to him again, but...oh! What's _wrong_ with me, Vivian?!" I cried.

She wrapped me into another comforting hug. "_Nothing_ is wrong with you," she reassured me. She then sat me up, and her eyes were gentle. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to change out of your nightgown, pack a bag of clothes, and bring the books to my house. I'll help you with your homework, and I wash your hair in the sink, and get all those tangles out. You'll sleep over at my house, and we'll go to school together tomorrow, and face Peter _together_. Now, no arguing."

I thought for a moment. Surely, my parents would be eager for an opportunity for me to get out of the house, and patch my heart back up together with the help of a friend.

I didn't argue with Vivian.

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	38. Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Seven

The night spent at Vivian's house was a consolation. Although it didn't eliminate the pain completely, it muted it. It was a thought in the back of my mind, saved for later.

Vivian had rather abruptly asked my father if it was alright for me to spend the night at her house, and he had agreed, despite the fact that it was a school night. It was possible that he was just as desperate for me to be comforted as I was.

Vivian kept her promise. She helped me study for the world history test that I would have to make up tomorrow, and somehow, managed to brush the bird's nest out of my hair. I was through with crying, so there were no tears present during the course of events at Vivian's house. I don't think she would ever comprehend how grateful I was to her. I had been at rock bottom, and she had pulled me to the surface, at least for a little while.

After dinner, Vivian and I laid out on the floor under the big pile of pillows and blankets we had set out, to give it the "sleepover" setting, even though we would be waking up early for school the next day. I wanted this night to never end. I couldn't imagine walking down the halls, accidently bumping into Peter as he walked to his fourth period math class, and I, to science class. Even with Vivian beside me, as she promised to be the whole day, I still felt nervous. It was as if I were about to walk out onto an open stage in front of a crowd of a thousand people, having no idea what the lines were. At least Vivian was helping me more than I would have helped myself.

We decided to go to bed, considering tomorrow would be an early morning. I felt safe; as if not anything—or anyone—could hurt me from the outside world. Vivian's room was warm and comforting, suiting Vivian herself perfectly. Due to the lack of sleep the previous night, I fell asleep instantly on top of the big, fluffy comforter we had laid out on the floor.

The morning rush at her house was very much like the one at mine. We got up, tired and dazed, got dressed, and got our books together. Mrs. Williams, Vivian's mom, made us waffles and toast for breakfast. I tried very hard not to think about what I was about to do. I tried to imagine this as simply another ordinary day at school. That was difficult, because I wasn't even in my own house. And Peter usually walked me to school. That wouldn't happen today.

I thanked Mr. And Mrs. Williams for allowing me to stay the night, and Vivian and I headed off to school. The walk from her house to school was shorter than the walk from my house. Vivian quizzed me on the world history quiz along the way, and I found that would be the one thing I wouldn't have to worry about; world history would be easy. The rest—besides the school subjects—was a different story.

Before I knew it, we were standing in front of the school building. Sixth, seventh, and eighth graders flooded the front steps. I didn't bother scanning the crowd. But my feet weren't planning on moving anytime soon.

"Shannon," Vivian reminded me, elbowing me lightly in the ribs. "It'll be okay. Come on."

I took a deep breath. I couldn't help but doubt her words, as trusting as she was. I forced my feet to move, and we entered the building just as the bell rang.

We didn't run into Peter in the hallway. Paige and Brooklyn bombarded me at my locker, however, demanding to know why I was absent yesterday. I promised to tell them later. My first class was math, and I was grateful that Peter wasn't in it. I continued through the day, keeping my eyes peeled for a flash of wavy brown hair. After all of my morning classes, my most dreaded period of the day was up.

Lunch.

I walked with Brooklyn, Vivian, and Paige. Apparently, Vivian had already explained to them what had happened through note-taking in math class. I guess I was so distracted with worry that I hadn't noticed. They both murmured "_I'm so sorries_" into my ear as we entered the cafeteria. I appreciated my best friends' sympathy, although it didn't feel any different from my parent's. They—even Vivian—did not know how I felt. I kept my eyes averted, trying to concentrate on my feet as I walked towards our usual table. I glanced as fast as I dared to see who occupied it, and to my quick relief—and slight disappointment—Peter wasn't there. Luke, Charlie, and Noah were, however, as they did every day. I took a seat in between Vivian and Paige. Brooklyn sat next to Charlie. I didn't hold a grudge against Brooklyn by any means, because she had a right to still be with Charlie. It wasn't as if all relationships ended when Peter decided that he didn't want me anymore. It was now just another lone reminder...

As there was no sign of Peter at the table, I quickly jerked my head around to see if I could find him, and to see if he was sitting with Celia. I did see him. He was sitting at the corner of the room by the trashcans, with a group of boys I didn't recognize. Some were laughing, throwing rolled up napkins at each other like six year olds. But not Peter. He simply sat there, staring out the nearby window with a thoughtful expression on his face. To my shock, Celia wasn't near him. She was on the other end of the cafeteria, gossiping and giggling with her stuck-up, desperate friends.

How could that be? She and Peter were supposed to be together. _They kissed_, for crying out loud! I whisked my head over towards Peter, and I stared more intently on his face, thankful that he could not see me from this angle. His brown eyes looked concentrated; distant. It made me want to go over there and hug him, or comfort him in any way I could. But I wouldn't do that. He didn't deserve to be comforted.

The day dragged on uneventfully. I expected Peter to ignore me in class; to stay away from me. He did just that. It was like we weren't in the same room. That was the way I wanted it. I wasn't ready to confront him. At least, that's what I tried to convince myself.

The bell finally rang at three thirty, and I was grateful to leave. I walked back to Vivian's house to get my bag of clothes, and Mr. Williams gave me a ride home. My mom was there when I returned, with open arms.

"How was your day, Shanny?" She'd asked me.

"Fine."

"Fine? Did anything happen?"

Of course, any mother would expect her daughter who had just gone through something like this to come home with a dramatic, heart-breaking story on how they were confronted by the one they used to love. Not in my case.

"No. Nothing happened. Peter ignored me and I ignored him." I explained.

My mom put her hand on my cheek. "Don't worry, hon. It was only your first day back. Things will get back to normal soon, I promise."

I let that role off of me. "Okay, mom. I have a lot of homework. I think I'll go get started."

The rest of the week dragged on slowly. I walked to school with Vivian every morning and was trapped in my bedroom with homework every night. Peter continued to ignore me at school. He sat at the opposite ends of the classroom from me, and sat with the group of strangers everyday at lunch. It was over, that much was obvious to not only me, but my group of friends sitting at the lunch table.

I was walking home after school on Friday when I heard a booming voice behind me.

"Shannon!" I recognized Luke's deep, low voice immediately. I hesitated talking to him at first, because he was Peter's favorite friend out of the bunch. But he had been nothing but polite to me ever since I had arrived, and he didn't deserve to be ignored.

I turned around, seeing him speed walking down the sidewalk to catch up with me.

"Hey, Luke." I called back to him.

He caught up with me, and we started walking.

"Nice day out," he said, making small talk.

"Yeah," I agreed.

We walked in silence for a minute, a bit awkwardly. I knew from experience that this wasn't the direction of Luke's house.

"Is there...um...something you had to tell me, Luke?" I asked eventually.

"Yeah," he said, but he hesitated. "See, I was talking to Viv a few days ago, and she told me what happened, with Peter and all."

I wasn't surprised that Vivian had told him. Their relationship had gone up a notch in the past month. It wasn't as intense as me and Peter's had once been, but it was getting close.

"Oh, so you heard."

"Yeah." He exhaled. "I don't know what to tell you, Shannon. This isn't like Peter. He's usually one to stick to his word. And I know he really...liked you. He told me. I just don't get it." He sounded as frustrated as I felt.

"Well, that makes two of us," I clarified. "I guess he just never got over Celia."

Luke's blue eyes narrowed. "See, that's where I'm confused. Peter was with Celia, but only for a short while. A few weeks," he explained. "But he broke up with her. He said she was too clingy, and swooned over him too much. He thought that the only reason she agreed to be with him was so that she could brag to her friends about it. He got sick of her. We all did. I really don't see how he could still like her."

I sighed. "The fact of the matter is, Luke, he kissed her. I guess he took us all by surprise." A hint of anger was in my voice. A sudden thought appeared into my mind. "Have you spoken to him recently? Why hasn't he been sitting at our table?" I questioned.

Luke shrugged. "No, I haven't talked to him since Celia's party. And he probably thinks you're mad at him, which is why he's not sitting with us anymore."

"I am mad at him," I reminded him.

"I know. Look, the reason I followed you home was...I was planning on talking to him today, just catching up considering he's been ignoring me, too. And if we happen to talk about...what happened, I was just wondering if you would want to know about it."

I thought for a moment. Of course I would want to know. I couldn't think of anything I would want more. Just a simple explanation....

But I couldn't do that to Luke. I didn't want him to feel responsible for any problems between Peter and I. He shouldn't have to betray his best friend, as much as I wanted him to.

"No, Luke, you don't have to do that. I mean, you can still talk to him, but you don't have to tell me anything. I think...I think it's better if I don't know. I mean, it's over anyway, nothing is going to change that." I said, regretting each word.

Luke nodded. "I understand. I guess you have to be heading home. See you Monday, Shannon."

"Bye," I said as I crossed the street.

The weekend went by quickly. My mom was going to try out for a musical at the theatre downtown. She was extremely nervous; I don't think I've ever seen her so nervous before. My dad and I spent all of Saturday reading the lines over with her, and I think she had a good chance of getting a good part. I really hoped she did; she deserved it more than any woman I could think of in Santa Monica. We went to church with the Jorys and had brunch with them afterwards. I hadn't seen baby Christopher in such a long time, and I was shocked to see him in his mother's arms, perhaps double the size that he was the last time I saw him. He had just celebrated his first birthday. While everyone chatted and drank coffee after the brunch, I played in the Jory's front room with Christopher. We had made up a new game, where he would throw his little stuffed bear on the ground, and I would pick it back up and hand it to him. He would then throw it down again, and the game would go on, and Christopher would laugh the entire time. For a moment, I pretended that he was my own brother. It would have been nice to have a baby in our house.

Things started to get back to normal somewhat, but it was different; a new normal. But I was surrounded by people I loved, and I was reminded that I could still be happy with them.

Paige came over after the brunch, and we walked around on the beach, talking about everything and anything—all except Peter, of course. She did, however, talk about Noah, whom she had taken an interest in ever since the Halloween party. I laughed out loud at first—how could she like a boy who had dressed up as a girl for a Halloween party? Paige laughed along with me, but then insisted that was what she liked about him. He was funny. I don't think I would ever know how Paige's interesting mind worked, but if she liked Noah, then I wasn't going to stop her.

It felt good to talk about someone else's life, even if it was regarding their relationship.

The next few days at school were very much like the ones the previous week. Classes were boring, Peter ignored me, and we got a lot of homework. It was becoming to repetitive. With Peter, every day had been different. I used to always be eager to go to school, and to see Peter. Now that I knew what to expect every day when I got out of bed, there didn't seem like much of a point anymore. I still had my friends and family, but something was missing. My heart still was in pieces, but thankfully, I had found a few, with the help of Vivian. But nobody, not Vivian, or my sweet parents, could restore it to how it was two weeks ago.

I did feel better, however. I knew it would take time, but eventually things would get back to normal.

After school on Wednesday, I entered my house to find my mom and dad smiling, the biggest grins I thought I'd ever seen on their faces.

"Shannon, I'm not going to be able to audition for that play," my mom told me as I walked inside.

I was shocked. "Why? I thought this was something you really wanted! You can't just not audition! You have to--"

"Shanny," My mom said, putting her hands on my shoulders. "Don't you think it would be a bit much for a _pregnant_ woman to be in a play?"


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Eight

December 20th, 1925

"Okay, class, have a good winter break. Try _not_ to do anything reckless or stupid," remarked Mr. Solar, our goofy science teacher.

The bell rang, and we were free. November had turned into December, and I couldn't be more desperate for two weeks off of school. Christmas beak was finally here, arriving just in time.

A lot had happened in the last month or so. Paige and Noah were officially together, as were Brooklyn and Charlie and Vivian and Luke. I was happy for my three best friends, although now_ I_ was the last one standing without anyone. Yes, Peter had continued to ignore me just as he always had. He didn't ever sit at our table. He did, however, talk to Luke, Charlie, and Noah. I would see them in the halls conversing with each other. Luke never did tell me about what he'd talked about with Peter, just as I had asked him to. It was better that way. I didn't need—or want—to know why Peter had taken such a far step in the opposite direction when he decided he didn't want me anymore. And now, he's not even mature enough to sit at our table. I didn't know what I had ever done to him, but for some reason he was so mad at me that he couldn't stand within a ten foot radius of me, let alone sit at the same table with his friends.

On the bright side, I did not once see him with Celia the whole month. As much as it confused me, that was the way I wanted it. As much as I tried to convince myself that I hated Peter, I knew deep in my heart that Celia wasn't good enough for him. Neither was I, for that matter, considering Peter had so abruptly proven that point. But I thought about it less these days.

I had distractions. A big one, actually. My new baby brother or sister was due on the fourth of July. That would make perfect sense. My sibling deserved to be born with fireworks in the background—a proper celebration. I can't recall the last time I was so excited. I was more anxious for this baby then when I found out my father might be alive. My parents and I had already dedicated the guest room to be the baby's room, but since we didn't know if it would be a boy or a girl, we couldn't decorate it much.

I had a new reason for being--the little person that was to be my sister or brother in nine months. I couldn't have been more excited.

I walked down the street with my three best friends before we parted. Vivian was going to visit her grandmother in Colorado, Brooklyn was going to New York to spend Christmas with her aunt, and Paige was staying at home. I was going to Sacramento with my parents. There was an art fair going on there, and my dad had some of his pieces being displayed in it. He had free admission, as did his family. Our travelling and hotel expenses had also been paid by the fair, so we figured it would be fun to get away for Christmas.

"I'll miss you guys so much!" Brooklyn vented when it was time for us to go our separate directions.

"I know. Two weeks is too long to be apart!" Vivian laughed.

"At least you guys are _going _somewhere," Paige retorted. "I'm going to be stuck here completely alone!"

I smiled. "Not _completely_ alone..." I teased her. We all knew she was excited to spend two weeks with Noah without her nosy friends to bombard her, wanting to know details.

Everyone laughed.

"I'm going to miss you all." Brooklyn said sadly. Everyone but Paige was leaving today right after school, and coming home a few days before school started again.

We hugged and promised to buy each other souvenirs. My friends laughed when I promised them I'd bring them each a Picasso original. We then went our separate ways.

When I entered my front door, my mom and dad had all the luggage already in the living room, and my dad had already called a taxi. I was excited to be getting out of the house for once. After making sure all of the bags were together, the three of us made our way to the train station in the taxi. It would be a three hour train ride to Sacramento.

"Are you excited?" My dad asked as we took our seats after boarding the train.

"Yeah, dad. It will be fun."

The three hours passed by faster than I had expected them to. The train was too rickety to read, so I talked to my mom, who was grateful for the fact that no one could tell she was pregnant yet. She didn't want to look like an oversized pear in fancy wrapping for such a big occasion.

Sacramento looked a looked a lot like Santa Monica, although the buildings were taller and more business-like. We made our way through the busy streets and then in front of a grand hotel. The hotel was even grander on the inside. It was completely first class- with chandeliers and shiny tile flooring. There were some fancy couches in the corner of the lobby with fancily dressed people sitting in them. My family must have stood out compared to all of them, considering we were wearing our normal day clothing. A bellmen lead us to our room and brought up our luggage. The room—the suite—was huge. There was a parlor, complete with fancy sofas and fluffy, colourful pillows. There was a fireplace on the wall, and double doors on each side of the room.

I got settled into my own room with a huge bed and my own bathroom. I felt as if I was on the Titanic. It fit my mother's description of it almost perfectly. The good news was, this hotel wasn't going to sink. I got changed into my new dark red dress, and put my hair into a bun, the way my mom often had hers in. I slid a fancier pair of shoes onto my feet, and even put on some make up that my mother had purchased for me for this occasion.

This was to be the first of the art fair presentations in the next two weeks, and I wanted to look presentable, considering my father was going to be displaying some of his pieces.

"You ready to go, hon?" My dad asked me from the other side of the bedroom door.

"Just about," I told him. I walked back into the parlor to see my parents.

My mom was wearing an elegant black and white dress, and my dad was wearing a tuxedo—which I hadn't seen him in since their wedding. They both looked great. I was sure to look utterly plain next to them.

"You look beautiful, Shannon," my dad remarked when I came into the room.

I rolled my eyes. "_Okay_, Dad."

He chuckled. "Why can't you just take the compliment?"

I shrugged. "Because it's a lie."

My mother laughed. "Your father would never lie, Shanny."

I rolled my eyes again, but laughed. "Alright. Can we get going?"

The art fair was conveniently being held in the ballroom at the hotel we were staying at. There was a dance floor, but it was covered with easels and tables scattered with thousands of drawings and fancy picture frames. I didn't recognize anyone there. Scott and Madeline Jory wanted to come, but someone had to watch the store and take care of little Christopher. So it had been up to my father to represent Santa Monica. My dad lead my mother and around first, with each of our hands in each of his. I met infamous artists and art dealers, who all seemed very comfortable in this fancy high-society setting. So did my father and mother, for that matter, although I knew their past well enough to know that it was nothing either of them would consider as a lifestyle. After an hour or so of meeting people, it was finally time for dinner. We took seats on the plush white chairs in the grand dining room, and we were served fancy foods—caviar and other foods I couldn't recognize. I ate each one without looking at them.

When we finished eating, the crowd of fancily-dressed people were encouraged to converse with the artists and examine the works of art. We made our way, from person to person, and my father politely introduced my mother and me to every one of them. My father, of course, noticed my boredom. He shot me an apologetic glance, and introduced me to someone else. The man we were currently talking with was heavier-set. He had a thin moustache, and a thin, older woman attached at his arm. He stood holding a glass of wine in one hand, and the other hand was in his pocket. He seemed just as first class as the millions of other people at the fair.

"My, what a beautiful family you have there, Mr. Dawson," The man, whose name turned out to be Mr. Corwitts said.

"Well, this is my beautiful wife, Rose, and my daughter, Shannon," My dad introduced us.

"Well, it certainly is nice to meet the family of a young artist," Mr. Corwitts said, taking his hand out of his pocket and shaking me and mother's hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," My mom said elegantly.

I simply smiled, bored.

I barely noticed Mr. Corwitts and my father conversing over the art gallery. I couldn't imagine how my father did it— the way he talked with these people as if he was raised in first class. He must have had a lot of free time to practice before he met me.

"I imagine you will be able to join us at the convention in August, eh, Mr. Dawson?" Mr. Corwitts asked my father.

"No, I'm afraid not. We're going to have a baby boy or girl in our hands by that time. I don't think the timing would work out," my father told him, smiling.

"_Ah_, your wife is expecting!" Mr. Corwitts realized. "I offer you my congratulations."

"Thank you," my dad said, putting his arm around my mom.

I fake-smiled. We'd already had this same conversation with dozens of other art investors. The talking continued and I zoned out again. My feet were hurting from standing for so long in the high-heels, and the pretty, but heavy dress was weighing my shoulders down. I almost considered asking my dad if I could go back to the room for the night, but I knew I was old enough to be able to stay with them.

"Well, Miss Shannon, your father tells me you are quite a fine artist yourself," Mr. Corwitts remarked, interrupting my thoughts.

I blushed. "Hardly."

"Are you _kidding_?" A voice completely out of nowhere objected. "I'm surprised she doesn't have one of her pieces displayed here. She's amazing."

I didn't need to turn around to see who was speaking from behind me. The velvet voice that soothed my every worry, that belonged to someone I had loved more than my own life.

I didn't need to turn around, but I did.

Peter looked exactly the same as he always did. Tall, strong, warm...beautiful. Especially in his black suit which I instantly recognized from the wedding. His expression was unreadable. I couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable, or happy, or amused at the probably-shocked look on my face.

But what was he _doing_ here? There were so many questions I needed to ask him, but I couldn't remember how to open my mouth.

I didn't bother looking at my parents, or anyone else for that matter. My eyes were locked on Peter's, and I couldn't breathe.

Peter was so close. Not two feet away. I wanted to run to him. I wanted him to hold me in his arms and tell me how much he'd missed me. I wanted him to kiss my forehead and reassure me that he loved me. Regardless of who was there, watching us, that's what I wanted. I couldn't think of anything I'd ever wanted more.

But I had common sense.

"Excuse me," I murmured to my parents and Mr. Corwitts once I found my lips. And, before I could let anyone stop me, I power-walked out of the grand room, the train of my dress flowing behind me. I didn't dare turn around, as much as I wanted to take a quick glance to see if anyone was following me. A bellman opened the big, glass door leading out of the ballroom. I didn't bother thanking him. I sped down the hallway, trying my best to make it look like I wasn't running. I was pretty sure I knew where I was going—to the garden outside the hotel. It was meant for any guest to take a stroll in, during the daytime. I needed time to think. The garden, with the stone ground, the peaceful waterfall and the walls of flowers that would envelop me would be a perfect place. I made my way outside into the warm night, and found my way to the garden through the light of the moon and stars.

The floral scent overwhelmed me at first, but it did help me forget the current issue. I sat down on a stone bench, facing the flowers.

Peter was here. That thought alone was enough to make my body cringe and my heart flutter at the same time. I didn't want to face him. Actually, I did want to, but I couldn't. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't face his wavy, brown hair, or his perfect nose or his radiant lips. Worst of all, I couldn't face his eyes. They were too alluring; too captivating. There was no doubt in my mind that I would lose my train of thought the very second I locked my eyes with his, just as what had always happened. I wouldn't be able to bear hearing his voice; his soft, warm voice calling my name—

"Shannon?"

_No_. No, no no.

It was a good thing I was sitting on the wrong side of the bench. My back was to Peter.

He must have followed me. He was so much faster than I was.

I couldn't think of a single thing to say back. So, like an idiot, I stayed completely frozen in my seat.

After an agonizing two minutes, Peter spoke up again.

"...Shannon?"

I didn't answer.

I heard him sigh deeply. "I understand why you won't talk to me. Believe me, I do."

That caught me off guard. How could he know?

It was if he had read my mind.

"You won't let me explain. I know you well enough to know that. You'll just sit there, silent, and wait for me to leave. I won't even attempt to explain." Peter sighed again. "You just have to know...that I am so dreadfully sorry. I don't love Celia. I never have, and I never will." He paused. Then, he took a deep breath. "I'll...just go now."

My heart beat in rhythm with his steps as I heard Peter slowly trudge down the dirt path.

I thought about a million things quickly. Why was Peter here? And he said he was sorry. And he said he didn't love Celia. He was sorry.

"How did you find me?" I asked abruptly before I could stop myself. I stood up and turned around.

Peter was in the process of taking another step down the trail when he quickly stopped and pivoted to face me.

Everything I had feared hit me at once. His hair, his nose, his lips...his eyes. I quickly looked at my feet.

"My father was coming here on business. Mr. Jory said your family was coming here, and so I hitched a ride with my dad," He explained, unashamed.

Now what to say? We were both silent for a moment. I wanted to scream at Peter as much as I wanted to hold him.

"Can we sit down?" It seemed like a suitable thing for me to ask. My knees were wobbling so much with anticipation, and I really didn't want to collapse now.

Peter nodded, and we both took a seat on the stone bench. We both sat on opposite ends, and I hated the space between us.

We both hesitated from talking for a moment. I didn't know what to say.

"If you don't want to talk to me--"

I snorted. "I _do_ want to talk to you," I clarified. It came out a bit harsh.

Peter sighed. "Well...talk away."

Great. What would I say? "Wha...you..." I stammered on like an idiot. "I shouldn't have to talk, Peter..._you _do."

I saw him nod, and he sighed. "I know." He took a deep breath. "...I didn't know that Celia would come over to my house that morning. She came to return our coats. She started to talk about the party...and how glad she was that I was there. I tried to be polite, and I listened to her. She started going on about how much fun she had dancing with me...and she said we should do it again sometime. I then knew I had to have it stopped before it got too far out of line. I told her that you probably wouldn't like it," he explained. His story was believable. Celia was the kind of person who would chatter on about something like that.

"I don't suppose you heard what Celia said after that..." Peter questioned.

I nodded once. "The part about how I was nobody...just a girl..." I confirmed, remembering.

I heard Peter take a sudden intake of breath. "Yeah...and...I really don't know how everything else happened. The next thing I knew, Celia...her arms were around me...and then you came in."

"And you didn't try to stop her?" My voice was hard.

"Okay, I know this sounds like any other lousy excuse... but I_ couldn't_, Shannon. I swear to you, she caught me off guard." Peter's voice was so sincere.

A lump formed in my throat. "So...if she threw herself on you...and you tried to stop her...why did you kiss her back?"

I glanced up at Peter's face for only a brief moment, and his eyes were confused. "What? I didn't...Shannon...I....I was trying to pull her off of me."

It took me a moment to let this all sink in. It didn't make sense. None of it did. I made mistakes, but I wasn't stupid.

"So...you're telling me...that Celia is...." I thought for a moment, not able to come up with a word to describe how Peter might feel for Celia. "What _is_ she to you anyway?"

He didn't take less than a second to answer. "Celia is the same person she's always been to me. Stuck-up, spoiled, and ignorant." He thought for a moment. "I know what you saw may have looked a little...convincing...but you didn't honestly think I felt anything for Celia, did you? Besides hatred, I mean."

I knit my eyebrows. "Yes...that's_ exactly_ what I thought." I spat, getting angry. "I mean, _seriously_, Peter! What was I supposed to think?! I mean, you two were so _comfortable _togetherat her party and you were so desperate to go back to her house to get her coats. And with you two having been together before--"

"How did you find out about that?" Peter questioned abruptly.

"Brooklyn told me." I retorted, unfeeling.

He sighed. "It was hardly anything, Shannon. We were only together for a while, but--"

I was already shaking my head. "Save it, Peter. I don't care if you were with her before. It's obvious that your feelings haven't ended with her. I just wish you could have warned me a little first, that's all," I spat.

Peter's breathing became ragged. "Shannon, _please_! Believe me! I don't love her! Not at all!" His voice was agonized. As much as I was mad at him, I wanted to wrap my arms around him, and never let go. I had never seen him like this before.

"If you don't love her," I began, trying to keep my voice hard, "then why did you ignore me for so long? I mean, if I did something wrong, the least you could do is tell me!"

"You didn't do anything, Shannon. Nothing at all."

"Is that the problem, then? I was too _boring_ for you?" I demanded to know.

I looked at his face again, and his eyes were wide. "_No_, Shannon! Shannon, you seem to be under a misunderstanding." His voice was husky. "I ignored you because I thought you were mad at me," he began. "I thought you hated me. You probably do, actually. And after what happened, after you ran away, and when I tried to stop you..."

I shuddered at that memory. I could still feel Peter's body cringe, and I could still see his pained face when I had punched him.

"I didn't want to bombard you. I knew I needed to give you some space," he continued. "Honestly, I vowed to spend the first week away from you, and wait for you to confront me." He chucked agonizingly. "But I lost my nerve the second week. I knew I had made a big enough mistake, and my consequence was losing you. I still struggle to accept that. You don't know how it's tortured me." He sighed shakily, and shook his head.

My heart was beating fiercely, but I was still utterly dumbfounded. "Peter, what are you saying?!" I demanded, now looking up at his aggrieved face. I wiped angry tears from my face as quick as I could.

"Shannon," Peter started, his voice soft and low. "I'm _lost _without you. You are my strength. You are the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, and I Iet you slip through my fingers. I'll never forgive myself."

A shaky breath escaped my lips as another tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't think, I just listened.

"After you walked away, I...I don't think I have ever been so dejected. Celia came over to me, and...questioned why I could seriously have let a girl knock me over. I told her to leave...and that I never wanted to talk to her again. She just giggled...at my pain." He let out an agonized chuckle. "I didn't have the strength to yell at her." Peter paused, as if trying to choose his next words carefully. "The next day at school, you didn't come. Your friends didn't know where you were, and I don't think I'd ever been more worried about someone else in my life. I tried to convince myself that you'd fallen ill, or had a family emergency to tend to. But, the fact that I had been the cause of your absence was inevitable for me to assume. I thought about calling you, but I didn't know what I would say. I'm sure my parents noticed I was acting funny, but they didn't ask about it until a week later, when my depression became too obvious for them to ignore. They encouraged me to talk to you; to ask you back. They had been too understanding, too reassuring. It was so much more than I was entitled to. The thing about my parents was...they didn't know you the way I do. I _knew_ you wouldn't take me back. You wouldn't even talk to me. So I didn't."

My eyes were wide. "You think you _know_ me?" I interjected. "Peter...I...I _wanted_ you to talk to me! I wanted you to explain, that was the least you could have done! I know you suffered. But don't you think _I_ did, too?"

"That's my point. I knew you were also in pain. That's why I didn't talk to you."

I took a deep breath, knowing I needed to calm down. "Peter, when you were ignoring me, I...I thought that you'd moved on. That you had decided that you didn't want me anymore, and that's why you weren't talking to me."

"Shannon, Celia and I haven't spoken a word to each other since that day. You didn't notice that?"

I sighed. "Okay...well, I did notice that. But, seriously Peter! What was I supposed to think...But you should have talked to me! We should have had this conversation weeks ago! You don't know me at all..." And with that, my emotions took over my body. Huge tears escaped my eyes, and my body shook with sobs. I wrapped my arms around my chest, hugging myself. My eyes were blinded with tears, so I couldn't see Peter's expression.

I hadn't cried this hard since the Sunday so many weeks ago, the day the incident had occurred. That Sunday, I had been distraught. I wanted to be mad at Peter, and I wanted him just as much. Now, I wasn't mad. I wasn't upset, or hurt. I now was wounded, in desperate need of someone to aid me. I was craving the help. Although, the only help I could ever need sat still on the opposite side of the bench from me.

"Shan...Shannon..." Peter stuttered. He then was silent, and he listened to me cry.

After a few minutes, I had calmed down a little. I tried to concentrate on breathing, breath after shaky breath. Peter just stared at me intently, pain written all over his face.

"_I'm so sorry_," he breathed.

I looked up at him, but did not say anything. The despair in his eyes was too much; I couldn't think of a word to say.

Hesitantly, Peter scooted over on the bench, now less than a foot away from me.

"When we were apart," he stared, "I couldn't stop thinking about you." He paused. "Just thinking about your face in my mind turned my darkness into light. But the light was only temporary, because I would remember what I had done to you." He took a shaky breath before continuing. "I need to know, after everything I've done to you, after everything I've put you through; can you still...love me?" His voice cracked on the word _me_.

I knew where the question had been going right from the start. And, I knew the answer right away, too. But giving in—when any normal person would have walked away...well, I had never been normal. My parents had been Titanic survivors, for crying out loud! Everything had been against them; coming towards them from opposite directions. There was always something—or someone—trying to deter their love. In my parent's case, it had been Cal. In our case, it was Celia. And yet, my parent's love had survived the sinking, and Cal.

And now, here Peter sit, spilling his heart out to me. He loved me, and had gone through exactly what I had gone through in the past month. Maybe he had even gone through worse. I couldn't imagine myself ever wanting—or needing—anyone else as much as I wanted and needed him. The fact that he made my world a better place was obvious. My world without him was unimaginable.

"I never...stopped loving you," I began, my voice surprisingly hoarse from crying. "Even when I believed that you didn't want me, I still loved you. I..." I paused when my own voice cracked, took a deep breath, and continued. "There's no way I can ever fall _out_ of love with you, Peter. The way I feel about you will never change."

He stared at me for a moment, the agonizing pain fading from his brown eyes. They now looked as beautiful as I had ever seen them.

"I'm too much in love with you...to stay away from you." He said softly, coming closer towards me on the bench.

"Then you should stay with me, definitely." I suggested in a whisper, leaning myself in, too.

"Always," he murmured, sliding one hand onto my face, gently.

I pressed my lips to his in less than a second. At first, it was need, equivalent to the point of desperation. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible to me. My heart was singing in my chest. Then, I felt pure relief, because he was back in my arms again. Letting go would be incomprehensible.

Peter did have to end the kiss eventually. However, I refused to let go of him. I untangled one of my arms around his neck, and placed it on his chest; his heart. Peter's heart beat as fast—if not faster—than my own.

I don't know whether he was moved by my gesture, or just as desperate as I was, but he crushed me to his chest, locking me in his arms. He held me there for a long time, and I listened to him breathe, in and out. I felt his lips in my hair, and I hugged him tighter. Peter's arms were warm, comforting.

It was where I belonged.


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Thirty Nine

"You think we should be heading back now?" Peter asked, his voice sounding about as unwilling as I felt.

I shook my head, which was cradled in his hands.

He smiled, but stood up anyway. "Come on," he insisted. I'm sure your parents are worried about you."

I had completely forgotten about the art fair. Everything had ceased to exist within the last few minutes.

My heart was somehow, miraculously, healed. My love had returned with the missing pieces of my heart, and put them back together perfectly. The pain I had once felt was gone, almost as if it hadn't ever been there. Of course, there was still a thought that lingered in the back of my mind. Everyone close to me; my parents and my friends, had known what Peter had done to me, and it wasn't likely they were expecting us to get back together. Of course I had forgiven him entirely, but I wasn't positive if everyone else would be that open. They couldn't be convinced as easily as I had been. We would have to explain, and ensure everyone that everything was back to normal.

Well, one thing was certain. My friends were going to get a bigger surprise than a Picasso original when I got home.

I stood up alongside Peter, and he took my hand in his own. We started to walk down the moonlit path out of the garden. Besides the light of the half-moon in the sky, Peter's eyes provided the brightest, heart-warming light I could ever imagine possible. I had missed his eyes so much, almost as much as I had missed him.

I untangled my hand from his and wrapped it around his waist instead, wanting to be as close to him as I could before we had to enter the grand ballroom again. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned my head on the side of his arm as we walked.

"So, anything particularly interesting happen to you over the last month?" I asked, trying to sound casual. I really had missed him, and I wanted to know what he'd been up to.

Peter snorted. "Shannon, do you seriously think I was doing something interesting? The world holds no interest for me without you by my side." He spoke as if I'd insulted him.

I sighed. "Yeah, my life has been pretty dull, too." I mused. "Up until now, of course."

We walked in silence for another moment. I thought about my past phrase, and remembered an important significance that had actually given my life some meaning during the month. "I take that back," I clarified. "My mom's pregnant. I'm going to be a sister, finally."

I looked at Peter's face just in time to see him smile beautifully. "Oh, Shan, that's _wonderful!_ Congratulations. You must be excited." He guessed, hugging me briefly to his side.

I nodded. "Yes. It certainly did give me something to think about when we were...apart."

I felt his arm tighten around me. I lifted my head off his shoulder and looked up at his face. His eyes were pained; his expression agonized yet again. I immediately regretted my words.

"Don't," I started, halting us to a stop. "I don't want you to be sad," I said, putting my hand on his cheek.

He took a deep, shaky breath. "I told you I would never forgive myself for leaving you. I won't. Not _ever_."

I felt a drop of water slide down from his eye to the tips of my fingers.

"Peter..." I murmured, staring into his glazed eyes for the longest moment. It was too much to bear. I hastily pulled him towards me, and wrapped my arms around his back. Peter buried his face in my shoulder, hiding the emotion he didn't want me to see.

"Don't be sad. We're together now. Everything's okay..." I soothed.

After a long moment, he sat up straight and looked back into my eyes. "I promise," he whispered. I knew what he meant. He wouldn't forgive himself.

"Let's go now," I suggested, not wanting him to wallow anymore. "Before my parents come out here. I swear, my mom is probably gathering up all those artists for a search party."

He smiled half-heartedly at my weak joke, took my hand again, and we started to walk.

The ballroom was still as bright and grand as it had been when I left it. It was still overflowed with people. After scanning the crowd for a few moments, we saw my parents, who were thankfully not talking to Mr. Corwitts anymore. Honestly, I didn't really care to see him again after my random outburst.

My parent's faces went from social-friendly smiles to astonished stares when Peter and I stepped in front of them, hand in hand. I saw their eyes glance to my face, then to Peter's, and then back towards mine.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dawson, it's nice to see you two again," Peter greeted, as if this wasn't an odd situation.

My mother knit her eyebrows for the briefest moment. "Hello again, Peter..." she said.

I took a step closer to my parents, talking so only the four of us could hear.

"Look, we'll explain everything later," I promised in a whisper. "Me and Peter are fine." I glanced down towards our locked hands to emphasize that fact. "We'll explain everything, I promise."

I had wished we weren't in such a public place now. My parents had suffered along with me this past month, trying to take my pain away, and onto their own shoulders. I still felt terrible that they, too, had to suffer. The least they deserved now was an explaination, but the middle of a crowded gala was certainly not the place.

"Alright..." my dad mused, and I could almost hear my words and actions clicking together in his mind. "Well, you two enjoy the fair."

I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that they were alright with waiting.

Peter and I ventured around the fair, looking at random paintings, not really interested in them. Our love had just been renewed, and I was sure he was just as anxious as I was to pick things up from where they had fallen, and continue with the wonderful lives we had lead together a month ago. The art fair, however, was not the easiest place to do so. A little bit too crowded.

When we got tired of wandering around, Peter took me back outside again, on the balcony that overlooked the grounds of the hotel. The faint sound of music was in the background, coming from inside the ballroom. We stood along the rails of the balcony, staring out into the night sky.

It seemed almost funny that this was the same blanket of stars I had gazed at a few days ago, when my life was still in the process of healing. If someone had told me that my life would be back to perfect in a matter of days, I would have laughed in their face. Now, I looked at the specks of silver and gold in the sky, feeling, for the first time in a month, content.

"Are you sure I'm not dreaming?" I asked Peter.

He grinned. "I'm sure you're not."

I thought for a moment, and smiled back. "You're probably right. I don't think I'm _that_ inventive."

Peter kissed my forehead. "But you know...I'm kinda having trouble imagining this, too. I didn't think...that you'd want to be with me...after what I did." He admitted.

"Why not?"

He thought for a moment, seeming to want to choose his words carefully. "Shan...I _know_ you. You're stubborn." He smiled for a brief moment, but then his features turned serious again. "I didn't come here to ask you to come back to me. Of course, I wished that would happen, but I knew there wouldn't be much of a possibility. I guess you could say that I kind of feel like I'm dreaming right now, too. Because...this can't be real. I can't be holding your hand right now." He squeezed my hand gently to emphasize his words. "As unreal as it all seems," Peter continued, "it's actually _happening_. And as much as I'm sure I'll wake up tomorrow morning in my own bed, and realize it was really just a dream, I'll know at least one thing is for sure. I will never love _anyone_ as much as I love you, Shan."

I hadn't realized that tears were running down my face. I ignored them.

"Peter...I murmured. "If you can't trust yourself, then trust _me_. You are not dreaming."

And with that, I stood on my toes so I could reach my lips to his.

**OK...I know this chapter was really short. But guess what? My Father Jack will be coming to an end shortly. However, I am thinking about writing a sequel!! (I'm just not ready to let go of Shannon and Peter yet!) But that depends on if I get enough reviews. I want to get everyone's ideas and input for the potential sequel. So please, for anyone who has read My Father Jack and liked it, please review, and tell me your ideas! I have a few, but I appreciate anything else I can get!!!**


	41. Epilogue

Epilogue

April 14th, 1930

April fourteenth. The day had never ceased to put me in a bit of a melancholy mood when it came every year. So many people had lost their lives that night, eighteen years ago. My parents had barely escaped with their own lives. And even though they did survive, my mother had believed my father to be dead. It wasn't until I was thirteen when I learned that he was, in fact, alive and healthy. _Thirteen years_ of living with my mother in a shoebox apartment in New York City, fatherless. Of course, I loved my mother. She was free-spirited, loving, and my best friend. But something had always been missing in my life. Not money, a big house, or fancy clothes. Those things had never crossed my mind. The truth was, I hadn't known who I was. My mother insisted that my father would have loved me, but I had never met him, so I couldn't have been sure. I was unsure of every aspect of myself. Did I really have my father's blue eyes? His adventurous personality? I couldn't sure of that. That was until I stumbled into an art supply shop, where a drawing of my mother hung on the wall, with my father's initials on it.

My life had turned in so many different directions from then on. First, I had met my father. He was a mean, grumpy man, completely unfitting my mother's description of the man whom she had loved for three days, the man who was my father. I had vowed to teach him how to love, and I had. He and my mother were reunited, and had gotten married.

The love shared between Peter and I had never faltered in the past four years. He was my other half. I was incomplete without him. We had started out as two young lovers, not quite adults, but not children either. We were growing up, and our love had grown with our age. I don't think he would quite understand how infatuated I was with him. He was my other half, and my love to him was invariable. I had come to a conclusion, over the years, that some odd sort of gene ran in my family. My parents had met, and had fallen irrevocably in love with each other. Nothing, not even time—thirteen years—would ever change that. I had inherited that, considering there was no one on earth that would touch my heart. It would always be Peter's.

I had remained close with my friends, too. Paige and Noah had gotten married in late September, nineteen twenty nine, not to my surprise. Brooklyn and Charlie had continued to see each other, just as my best friend, Vivian, and Peter's best friend, Luke had been carrying on with their relationship.

As of right now, I was in my bedroom sketching the view from outside my window. I had attempted the sketch so many times over the years, wasting so much paper, and destroying a countless number of trees. I could never seem to get it right! The spring Santa Monica breeze always caused the tree branches to sway, and it was hard to concentrate when the whole world was moving. I would never be sure how my father did it—capture a person or a setting as if he had taken a mental picture of the scene in his mind.

This particular drawing, however, was beginning to turn out rather good. I had ignored the swaying branches to the best of my ability, and had almost captured the nature setting onto the sheet of paper. It was almost finished, I had to just get the outline of the house on the left—

I jumped when my door swiftly open, my hand accidentally scribbling a jagged line over the paper. I sighed. Well, there goes another tree.

I turned around, and couldn't help but smile at the little girl who stood innocently in the threshold.

My sister, Josephine Monica Dawson, was born on July fourth, nineteen twenty six. The fireworks had been booming so loud that day that I could hear them from my mother's hospital room when I saw my sister for the first time. She was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, with my mother's emerald green eyes and porcelain skin. I could still remember holding her for the first time. I had held my littlest finger out to her, and she had curled her teeny hand around it, learning who I was. When we took her home from the hospital, my father and I painted her room light pink, with flowers painted in a soft blue, and her name on the wall. Josephine's name had so much meaning to my parents. It resembled so much. Josephine was from the song my father had sung to my mother on the Titanic, and he had also sung to her in the hospital, right before my sister's birth. Monica came from the beautiful town in which we lived in, and where my parents had talked about on the ship as well. Now, at three and a half years of age, Josephine had my father's blond hair that cascaded down her back in perfect curls. Her wild green eyes were always searching for something exciting to do, and I could only imagine what she was thinking in that erratic mind of hers.

"Hi, Josie!" I said in my high-pitched, childish voice, reserved only for my sister.

"Sannin, Mommy wants you to come downstairs and help her make dinner," Josie said in her cute, toddler voice. I always got a kick out of how she couldn't pronounce my name correctly. _Sannin _was the nickname she'd developed for me just as how my mom still called me _Shanny_.

"Alright. Can you tell Mommy that I'll be downstairs in five minutes?"'

Josie nodded. "What you dwa-wing?" She asked, wobbling into my room on her short, little legs, and standing on her tip toes so she could see the paper. I laughed and lifted her onto my lap.

"Well," I said, resting my chin on her head. "I _was_ drawing a picture of our street, but I messed up."

"Why?" Josie asked her favorite question.

"Well," I smiled. "_You _scared me" I put my index finger on her nose.

"Oh. Sa-wee."

I laughed. "It's no big deal, sweetie. Now, go tell mommy I'll be down soon, okay?" I lifted her off my lap and she went waddling out of the room.

I laughed again and shook my head.

I crumpled up the ruined sketch and tossed it into the wastebasket. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and sighed. My father insisted that I looked exactly as my mother had when she was my age, seventeen. I highly doubted that, considering she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. My hair was still long, curly, and red, but was always a catastrophe in the mornings. My eyes were still as blue, if not bluer, as my fathers.

I put my drawing tools away and went downstairs.

My father was at work. Although it was the weekend, he had been taking extra shifts for a while. Money had grown tight ever since the stock market crash in October last year. Sacrifices had been made, and we had cut back on a lot of things. I hadn't been able to go to college, because my parents couldn't afford it. I was a little disappointed, but I was relieved for the opportunity to stay at home and be with my family and Peter. Luckily, my family wasn't as unfortunate as others that I had been hearing about. I read in the newspaper that people were losing their jobs and homes. I couldn't imagine what would happen or where we would go if that happened to my family. My friends, too, had been lucky. Although the economy was down, nobody I knew had lost their jobs. President Hoover didn't seem to be too concerned to help our downfallen country, which upset me.

My mother was making dinner, and I could see that she needed help. I stepped into the kitchen and worked alongside her, cutting the tomatoes for the salad.

"What time is Peter coming tonight?" My mom asked while we cooked.

" He said he'd be here around six."

Peter usually came over for dinner on Saturday nights. It had kind of turned into a tradition over the years, and my parents hadn't minded. In fact, they considered him as the son they'd never had, and welcomed him ever Saturday evening with open arms.

"Shanny, I've just got to warn you about something," my mom said once the chicken was in the oven.

"What, mom?" It wasn't everyday when she warned me about something.

"Well, Peter talked to your dad yesterday. He had asked if they could talk before dinner tonight. He didn't mention what, but Jack said he sounded really nervous...you don't think...well...he didn't mention anything about his job, did he?"

His job? "No, Peter hasn't said anything to me about his job. Why?"

My mom sighed. "I don't know. I could very easily be wrong, but...I have a feeling that Peter may need a new job. He might have lost his. Maybe he wants to talk to Jack about getting one at the art store..." My mom mused.

I sighed. Peter had been working at the elementary school as a gym teacher ever since we got out of high school. With all the cutbacks on jobs, Peter could have easily lost his. Schools could survive without gym class...

"Oh, mom! What if he did? That would be horrible!"

Of course, I didn't mind the idea of Peter working alongside me. I worked at the art store, along with my dad and his long time friend Mr. Jory. With my mom not working since she had to stay home and watch Josie, I pitched in to help my family. Peter's job was supporting his family as well.

"I don't know, Shanny. Just be prepared if he decides to tell you tonight. He will probably be upset."

"I know. I will. Thanks, mom."

I now suddenly regretted the tone of my voice on the phone when I had called him earlier today. I was excited for him to come over, so I must have sounded cheery, as if I had not a care in the world. Leave it to me to be totally clueless on the world's issues.

I sighed, disgusted with myself. I would have to be more observant.

The doorbell rang at promptly six o'clock. I opened the door for Peter, trying not to look too cheery, even though I was anxious to see him. He never ceased to stun me every time I saw him. He had kept his golden hair short, so it was curly rather than wavy. He was a whole head taller than me, and his hands were at least twice the size of my own. He was brawny from having done athletic activities over the years. His brown eyes were as beautiful as they had always been. Their warmth always comforted me, even if I didn't have anything to worry about. He smiled, noticing that I was staring at him.

"Shan," he said, stepping inside and pulling me into a hug. This was routine, so there were no signs that he was sad for losing his job...yet. I felt his lips in my hair, and then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my own. This, too, was customary.

Out of nowhere, Josephine's loud, clumsy footsteps could be heard running down the hallway and into the front room.

"_PETER_!" She called, with a ridiculously cute smile on her face. She ran into him, wrapping her small arms around his knees.

Peter smiled genuinely. "Hi there, Josie!" He chuckled, and lifted her up. "Now, how are you today?"

Josie giggled. "Good."

Peter laughed and kissed Josie's forehead. I smiled. Josie thought of Peter as her older brother. Sometimes I would believe that she loved him as a brother more than me as a sister. That was alright with me, however. I loved to see two of the people whom I loved most in the world get along.

Peter sat Josie back down on her feet, and she ran off to her room, probably to get one of her toys to show to Peter.

I shook my head, smiling. "My _goodness_," I chuckled.

Peter laughed with me, putting his hand around my waist. "You know, I think sooner or later I'm going to have _two_ women fighting over me," he remarked.

"Who, Josie? Oh, she'd better not. You're _mine_." I murmured, picking up his other hand and putting it on the other side of my waist.

Peter chuckled and leaned in to kiss me, but paused when I heard someone clear their throat.

My mom and dad were standing in the room, my dad with his arms crossed on his chest.

Peter quickly let go of me, and walked over to my parents.

"Oh, hello, Jack," he greeted, shaking my dad's hand as if my dad hadn't seen anything.

My dad raised his eyebrows, with an amused expression on his face. "Hello, _Peter_." He said, glancing over towards me, his eyebrows still raised.

I could feel my cheeks burn when I heard my mother chuckle.

"Well, Rose and Shannon have dinner ready, but is there something you wanted to talk to me about first?" My dad questioned.

"Yes," Peter agreed casually. He didn't look sad or stressed. "Do you mind if we go outside?"

My dad shook his head, and gestured Peter to go first. Peter kissed my cheek before he walked back outside, and my dad turned around to shrug his shoulders to my mom and me behind Peter's back.

When the door closed, I rushed over to my mom's side.

"Do you think he's telling him now?" I whispered to her, looking out the window that my dad had his back turned to, and Peter was on an angle, looking at my dad and talking. It was too dark to see his expression.

"Probably. We probably shouldn't spy, Shanny. Come on, let's get the table set."

I sighed. "Alright."

My mom and I were sitting at the table, and Josie in her high chair when my dad and Peter walked in about five minutes later.

"I'm sorry to keep dinner waiting, ladies," Peter said, sliding his chair out and sitting next to me.

My dad said grace and we ate, talking about the art store, the economy, and other things; small talk. I glanced over at Peter a few times, to see his expression that might lead him to telling me that he'd lost his job. But he would simply smile at me and then listen back to whoever was talking.

Dinner was long, and I was anxious to be done so I could talk to Peter. Nothing had been mentioned regarding a loss of a job, and each passing moment was making me more and more jumpy. Peter and I offered to do the dishes, and I hoped that would be a good place for us to talk. But he didn't say anything. We washed and dried in silence.

When we were done, I knew Peter would announce that he should be getting home soon. I, of course, would offer to walk with him, but he would remind that my sense of direction hasn't improved at all since the day I got lost in a slum when I was thirteen. He would then kiss me on the cheek, thank my parents for dinner, and leave, and I would be up all night, wondering and worrying.

"Shannon?" Peter asked when we entered the front room. He was going home now. I was sure of it.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to take a walk with me before I go?"

Oh. So now he was going to tell me. I softened my expression. "Sure, Peter. Let's go."

We stepped outside into the cool Santa Monica breeze. The full moon shone brightly in the sky, but Peter's eyes were all the light I needed, naturally. He took my hand in his and we walked slowly down the sidewalk. We were both silent at first, and I was anticipating what conversation was about to take place.

"_I'm so sorry, Peter_..." I would say when he told me. "_Of course, you know that my dad and Mr. Jory could always use a hand around the art store_..." I would suggest to him.

"Shannon, I have to talk to you."

Here it came.

He took a deep breath, now finally looking nervous. "You know times are tough these days," he started.

I tried not to sigh. It was official. He had lost his job.

I just nodded.

"The world is going through a lot of change and hard times."

I nodded again.

He hesitated. "Shannon...you and I have been through good deal of hard times. But...we were always together, and we supported each other throughout them all."

Yes, and I would be here to support him now.

His next words were spoken with confidence. "Shan, I love you. You are a blessing in disguise. I want you, and I want you _forever_. You are my reason for living. I can't live another minute without knowing that I'll have a lifetime with you. You're my dream come true, Shannon."

He got down on one knee.

My mind exploded. I felt like screaming. Tears unexpectedly started falling from my eyes, and a sob came out of my mouth. I put my hand on my chest, trying to control my breathing.

"I've asked your father's permission. And, for some reason, he's allowing me to propose to his daughter; the most amazingly astounding woman in the universe. Shannon...will you marry me?

"_Yes_."

THE END

**!!! OK, soooooo if you want to see a sequel....REVIEW!!!! Seriously, I won't write a sequel if I don't get enough reviews. Ok, last thing. Thanks to everyone who reviewed for My Father Jack. I really appriciate it!!!!!!!!!!! :)**


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